


Motivations for Sex

by Islander



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gay, Gay Rights, Gay Sex, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Romance, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 74,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Islander/pseuds/Islander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort has started a diversity campaign to pull the wool over the eyes of Wizarding public. Draco does his part by starting a Gay Straight Alliance at Hogwarts. So Harry decides to seduce Draco to discover the secret plans of the Dark Side. This should all go as planned, unless Harry gets too romantic and catches feelings for Draco… H/D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hate Fuck

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! A quick few things: this fic could be considered AU, but I prefer the term “post-OOTP,” since it uses the end of the 5th book as a jumping off point. It just works the best, given the plot. Also, a lot of my favorite fanfics are post-OOTP, so I’m still stuck in that gear to some extent. And I wasn’t sure whether to classify this story as humor or romance, but then I realized I was stupid and that romantic comedy is totally a genre. So let’s go with that.
> 
> Warning: I'm giving this fic an Explicit rating. There will be some sex scenes (most of which have yet to be written, but which I expect to be graphic), a lot of explicit dialogue and profanity, plenty of irreverent humor, more than a little bit of drug use, and some mature thematic elements. Because that’s just how I roll, I guess. Also, thanks to J.K. Rowling for creating Harry Potter and taking all this fanfiction in stride! I love you!

“This is going to sound very odd,” Dumbledore said, “and when I say something is odd, you know it is. But Voldemort is launching a diversity campaign.”

Everyone in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place flinched at the name, then blinked in surprise at the words that followed. Order meetings as of late had been a bit quieter. It was mid-September, and they had been bracing themselves for Death Eater attacks all summer. After Voldemort’s return had been revealed to the Wizarding World at the Department of Mysteries, they were sure it was the start of all-out war.

In July, another huge Azkaban breakout happened. The dementors attacked, a couple of Aurors were badly wounded, and most of Voldemort’s followers were free again. The Ministry was in an uproar for days, and the Order was in a frenzy trying to prepare for battle. Dumbledore immediately scooped up Harry from Privet Drive and assigned him to a rigorous training schedule with Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, Lupin, and himself.

But nothing happened. The Dark Side lay low.

And now this.

“A… a diversity campaign?” Fred finally said. “That’s mighty odd. You-Know-Who’s wrapped up in Pureblood Mania.”

“That is true,” Dumbledore said. “And despite being a diversity campaign, it is all about Purebloodedness. It’s—well, it’s hard to explain. Why don’t I just show you? Snape?”

Snape stood up from the other end of the table, and fifty heads turned towards him in unison. He flipped a lank of greasy hair out of his face and pulled out his wand.

“I have the preliminary print ads already,” he said, looking mighty disgruntled that his spy job had been reduced to pilfering intellectual property. “These will be running in the Daily Prophet starting next week, and they’ll also go up on posters in Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, and Hogsmeade.”

He flicked his wand, and an image projected itself against the stone wall, looking unnaturally glossy and vibrant in the dingy room. It was a young lady, dressed in black robes of modest length but flattering fit, holding a textbook and smiling confidently at the camera. She was a stunning blond with big, blue eyes and plump lips. She shifted around a little, blinked slowly and alluringly, and glancing every now and then down at the golden text emblazoned across her: “I AM A FEMINIST, AND I AM PUREBLOOD.”

“Oh,” Tonks tutted.

“Hermione would blow chunks if she saw this,” Harry murmured.

Snape waved his wand again, and this time a plain-looking but jolly old man waved at them, grinning a wide, toothy grin. “I AM AN INNKEEPER, AND I AM PUREBLOOD,” read the text.

“See how they’re trying to appeal to the everyman?” Dumbledore noted. Everyone nodded and rolled their eyes, unappreciative of the unnecessary and obvious analysis.

Another wave of Snape’s wand, and the image changed again. A gangly young man, barely old enough to be out of Hogwarts, peered at a ledger through thick, half-rimmed glasses, only occasionally lifting his eyes to cast the crowd a calculating look. “I AM A MINISTRY ACCOUNTANT, AND I AM PURE BLOOD.”

Another image. A young African lady had one hand on her hip and the other waving her wand. She grinned at all of them and swished her dashiki-style robes. “I AM BLACK, AND I AM PUREBLOOD.”

“Hey, that’s my cousin!” Kingsley said indignantly.

“Most of these images were stolen from stock photos,” Snape explained. “A lot of these people aren’t even Purebloods. Your cousin’s image was stolen from her  _Witch Weekly_ profile as Ministry ambassador to Senegal.”

“Oh,” Kingsley calmed down for a second, but then got indignant again. “She should sue! She didn’t give permission for her photo to be used like that!”

“The Ministry’s legal system is exceedingly corrupt,” Snape said. “Pardon me, the  _entire_ Ministry is exceedingly corrupt. Good luck seeking recourse.”

He waved his wand again, and Gilderoy Lockhart popped up with a huge, toothy grin and a swishy wrist. “I AM GAY, AND I AM PUREBLOOD.”

“They stole Lockhart’s image, too?” Harry said, laughing at the sight of the flamboyant ex-professor sashaying around his golden caption.

“Actually, that’s one of the few they didn’t steal,” Snape said, his lip curling in amusement. “Lockhart did a photo shoot for 5,000 galleons.”

“He’s out of St. Mungo’s?” Molly Weasley piped up in a high voice, trying to contain her excitement. “That’s gr—I mean, uh, I thought he still suffered from the memory charm he cast on himself.” She tried to dial back the fangirl reaction, forcing her hands not to flutter on her breast.

“He’s made an unexpected and marked improvement in the last six months,” Snape said. “As good as he is at Obliviating others, his original motivation never was to cast the spell on himself, so it seems the effects, as long-lasting as they have been, are not permanent after all.”

“That’s a shame,” Harry said, a little louder than necessary, and everyone else except Molly Weasley nodded vigorously, especially the Hogwarts professors.

Snape had a few more ludicrous images to show them, and then the slideshow was done. “They are also in the process of recording radio ads, and they have bought up 50,000 galleon’s worth of airtime.”

“But why?” Arthur Weasley asked. “Why are they doing this instead of attacking?”

“Mark my words, they still mean to take over the Ministry and rule the country,” Snape said. “And at some point, that does mean attacking. But they first want to neutralize everyone on the fence. They want to ingratiate themselves to the Purebloods who look down on Muggle-borns but who disapprove of the violence Voldemort used in the first war.”

“And what are we going to do about it?” Harry asked. “We’ve been training to fight them in wand-to-wand combat. How do we fight  _this?”_

“Do our own ad campaign?” Remus suggested tentatively.

“I’m sure we could find a photographer,” Dumbledore mused. “One with an artistic vision that didn’t make our response look completely ridiculous. But then there’s the problem of matching their 50,000 galleons of airtime. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

The table fell into a deep and uncomfortable silence. Dumbledore deliberately directed his gaze towards Harry and repeated, “Do you have any suggestions, Harry?”

“No,” Harry said, a little too quickly.

“Any place (or person) who could help us front 50,000 galleons?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, still a little too quickly.

Dumbledore turned to the Weasley twins. They wore matching alligator skin suits, a benefit of their booming business. “Fred, George, do you know anywhere where we could find 50,000 galleons?”

“Bake sale at Hogwarts?” Fred suggested with calculated obliviousness.

“Or a burlesque show,” George added. “One with strippers, and a percentage of their tips could go to ad space.”

“Boys!” Molly snapped at them. “Now is not the time for jokes. This is a serious matter!”

But it wasn’t a serious matter. It was an odd, unexpected matter, and nobody knew quite how to respond to Voldemort’s new tactic. After some half-baked ideas, each stupider than the last, Dumbledore finally called an end to the Order meeting.

“Be thinking of ideas, all of you,” he said. “Send me a Patronus if you have an incredible solution to this problem. Otherwise, we’ll meet back here in a week.”

With some grumbling and murmuring, the Order meeting dispersed. Over the sound of scooting chairs and rustling cloaks, Dumbledore added, “Harry, can I see you for a moment?”

So Harry stayed behind, and when everyone was gone, Dumbledore cast a spell on Mundungus’s abandoned spittoon to turn it into a Portkey.

“What is it, Professor?” Harry asked.

“I know how much you hate that nothing’s happened,” Dumbledore said. “I know how hard it is, training every day when no fighting actually occurs. And I’m sorry we’ve not made much headway into researching ways to kill Voldemort.”

Harry nodded. It  _was_ frustrating. He had mastered fifty new curses since the beginning of the summer, and he could now fight in hand-to-hand combat using a sword, a knife, his fists, and even nunchucks (Tonks had insisted on the last one for no practical reason, but Harry wasn’t complaining). He’d even beat Mad-Eye Moody a few times. He was also running around the lake each morning, building his endurance and stamina.

And yet he had no idea how he’d actually defeat Voldemort.

“Good news is,” Dumbledore said, “I have an assignment for you.”

Harry perked up. “What kind of assignment?”

Dumbledore offered him the charmed spittoon, and Harry gingerly gripped the rim with two fingers, scrunching up his face when he made contact with a glob of tarry spit. “Master Malfoy is eager to participate in Voldemort’s plan,” Dumbledore began, “and he wants to extend the Pureblood diversity campaign into Hogwarts.”

“One moment, Professor,” Harry interrupted, “and I’m sorry for interrupting, but can we please leave now? This is fucking disgusting—worst Portkey you ever made.”

Dumbledore obliged, and they felt a tug in their navel before they were whisked away to Hogwarts.

The moment they landed on their feet in Dumbledore’s office, Harry cast the spittoon away from them and wiped his finger on the edge of the headmaster’s desk. Dumbledore chuckled a little and continued from before. “Anyway, I want you to keep an eye on Master Malfoy. Do what you can to keep him from winning over any students.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “And thank you. I need this.”

“Anything for you, my dear boy.”

“Out of curiosity,” Harry continued, “do you know if Malfoy’s planning anything yet? I mean, something definite.”

“Yes, actually. He’s starting a Gay Straight Alliance.”

“A what?”

“Gay Straight Alliance.”

Harry shook his head and laughed a little out of surprise. “ _Why?_ ”

Dumbledore shrugged. “It’s an effort to expand the Pureblood ideology into other demographics, same as the rest of Voldemort’s diversity campaign. Why he chose to target the LGBT community specifically, I cannot say.”

“So I guess you want me to join the Gay Straight Alliance—” Harry said, “as a straight ally, of course—and neutralize Malfoy’s efforts.”

“In whatever way possible. Gather up Ron and Hermione and a few other trusted people, and make a plan.”

“I’m on it, Professor,” Harry promised. “Also, can Ron and Hermione join the Order meetings from now on? You know how much they want to get involved.”

“They’re too young,” Dumbledore said. “You’re only allowed in because you’re our only hope of defeating Voldemort. Otherwise, you’d be sticking strictly to your NEWT courses.”

Harry grumbled a little, but this was his dozenth time asking, and he had nothing new to say. Dumbledore ruffled the boy’s hair and waved his hand towards the door. “Now off with you, Harry,” he said fondly. “Go save Hogwarts from that Pureblood ferret.”

 

*****

 

No more than an hour later, Harry was in the Room of Requirement with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna. After the Department of Mysteries, he considered them to be his core team. He’d trust them with anything.

“A Gay Straight Alliance?” Neville mused when Harry had finished explaining everything to them.

“A Gay Straight Alliance,” Harry confirmed. They were all sat in beanbag couches that the room had so graciously provided them.

Ron and Ginny sniggered at the idea of Malfoy leading any sort of diversity club, much less a Gay Straight Alliance. Hermione’s lip twitched, but Harry could also see her brain was trying to process the information and come up with a plan.

“We join it, of course,” Neville said. “And then we suss out his intentions.”

“And how do we do that?” Ron asked. “This is Malfoy we’re talking about. He won’t just  _tell_ us what he’s planning to do with the students he gets on his side.”

Luna snuggled into her beanbag couch and wrapped a lock of her curly hair around her finger. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” she said quietly. “We seduce him.”

“Not it!” Ginny said, almost before Luna had even finished her sentence. “I’d rather sleep with Snape than get fucked by that ferret!”

“We’ll keep that in mind when we need to seduce Snape,” Hermione said crisply. “And Luna, not a bad idea! I know I think most of your ideas are weird, but this one has some merit.”

“Ewww, why?” Ron whined. “If I didn’t want so badly to contribute to the war effort, I’d be leaving the room right now! I don’t want to even  _think_ about Draco and sex.”

“It’s a war, Ron,” Hermione said sharply. “Before all this is over and Voldemort’s dead, we’ll have to go through hell and back. We’ll have to do a whole host of things that demoralize us and destroy our spirits… including talking about Draco Malfoy’s sex life.”

“Or should you say, his sexuality?” Neville grinned.

“Actually, yes, Neville, I  _should_ say his sexuality. This plays a big part in our plan. It’s telling that he chose to start a club based around sexual orientation and not, say, any other diversity component. Maybe he’s straight and he’s just micro-targeting the gay community for his Pureblood mania. Or maybe he’s in the closet, or struggling with his sexuality. The latter scenario leaves him most vulnerable to seduction, but I think if he’s straight, we could do an old-fashioned straight seduction scenario, too.”

“So we need a Plan A and a Plan B,” Ginny said. “One for if Malfoy’s into women, the other for if he’s into men.”

“I’ll seduce him if he’s straight,” Luna offered, her tone of voice much the same as if she’d offered to make breakfast.

“Just like that?” Neville marveled. “Damn, Luna, you’re a real trooper.”

“I know I am,” Luna said. “But Ron and Hermione are dating, and Ginny’s already refused, so that leaves me.”

Harry clapped his hands together. “Well, that’s sorted. And I guess I’ll take on the responsibility of seducing him if he’s gay.”

The whole room did a double take, not sure if they heard him correctly. Neville started laughing, as if Harry had told a joke, and Ron mimed retching.

“But you hate Malfoy,” Hermione said. It wasn’t even a question. “You hate him. This isn’t your saving-people thing, is it?”

“No,” Harry said defensively, “of course not! Well… maybe. So what? I don’t trust Ron to do it.”

Ron nodded fervently. “I don’t care if that was an insult or not, Harry—I wouldn’t fuck Malfoy even if I had a ten-foot pole!”

“You’ve sacrificed so much already, though,” Hermione pressed. “You don’t have to take the burden on your shoulders  _again_ . Neville could be the one to seduce Malfoy.”

“Hey!” Neville cried. “Don’t go volunteering me. Harry already said he’d do it.”

“It’s  _fine,_ Hermione,” Harry promised. “Really, it is. I do hate Draco, yes. Of course I don’t want to fuck him. Anyway, he’s probably straight, and this club is probably him targeting a minority group to draw into his trickery, in which case Luna will seduce him and figure out his plans. But if, by some chance, he  _is_ gay, then I’ll find a way. I don’t have to sleep with him—just get him worked up enough to spill the beans.”

“Or spill his seed.” Ron snorted, then shuddered in disgust at his own joke.

“Then it’s settled,” Hermione said. “If he’s straight, Luna seduces him. If he’s gay, Harry does. When’s the first meeting?”

“This Tuesday at 7:00pm, in the student lounge halfway up the Astronomy Tower,” Harry said. “I saw Malfoy putting up posters on my way here.”

And thus it was settled. They spent a little time practicing some new battle moves Harry learned in his trainings, but mostly they sat around and talked and drank butterbeer (courtesy of Dobby, who always popped in on their meetings to pamper them).

Harry talked, too, but not as much as he usually did. He was pensive.

It would be easiest if Malfoy was straight and Luna had to seduce him. And sure, he did hate the blonde-haired Slytherin.

But he had to be honest: after he got over his infatuation with Cho, new feelings emerged in him that he’d never acknowledged before. And there was no denying: that smooth-faced, pale, twinky Slytherin was a fine specimen.

It was a deep, dark secret that he didn’t dare tell the others, but Harry Potter wanted to hate fuck Draco Malfoy.


	2. The Hogwarts Gay Straight Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco holds the first meeting of the Hogwarts Gay Straight Alliance. What exactly is he playing at? And whose task will it be to seduce him?

**CHAPTER TWO: The Hogwarts Gay Straight Alliance**

Monday and Tuesday were difficult school days for Harry. Already he wasn’t particularly engaged in his studies, but anticipation for Tuesday night’s Gay Straight Alliance meeting had him particularly distracted. McGonagall even called him out on Tuesday for not paying attention during Transfiguration, but Harry forgot what she said as soon as she had said it.

The others were excited, too, Harry could tell. They had been mightily miffed when Dumbledore wouldn’t let them join the Order meetings (particularly Ron and Ginny), so they were happy to be involved in the war effort in whatever way possible. Infiltrating a random school group started by Draco was no more than a hill of beans compared to taking down Voldemort himself, but it was something.

Harry kept his own reasons for excitement to himself. There was no point in sharing with them, anyway—he likely wouldn’t act on any desire to fuck Draco, and in any case, the Slytherin boy was probably straight.

And yet, despite these qualifications, Harry headed over to the Astronomy Tower student lounge with an uncommon tug of exhilaration in his stomach. He was almost there when he realized that he was 15 minutes early, and that he hadn’t even thought to find any of the others. So he stopped a few hallways down and took a moment to collect himself.

_This is about keeping an eye on Draco_ , Harry reminded himself,  _not about trying to fuck him. This is an assignment. I’m here to keep him from poisoning others with his Pureblood supremacy._

_Then again_ , another part of his brain pointed out _, what better for a supremacist git than to have the arrogance fucked out of him?_

“Shut up, brain!” he said out loud. The portraits around him shot him weird side glances. “You  _don’t_ need to fuck him.”

“Why not, though?” one of the portraits said with a yawn. It was a Medieval priest with a severe lazy eye and an unsightly chancre on his lip. “It’s not going to kill you, particularly after the syphilis remedy potion.”

“It’s not part of the plan!” Harry snapped back.

“It rarely ever is,” the priest said reasonably. “It just sort of happens. Just go with it.”

“That’s awful advice!”

“Maybe,” the priest conceded. “I did die, after all. But you only live once—might as well have a good time while you’re at it!”

At that very moment, Hermione and Ron walked around the corner. “Heya Harry, why’re you talking to the portrait?” Ron asked.

“Just giving him sage advice about sex,” the priest said properly.

“He’s trying to get me to fuck Malfoy!” Harry said heatedly. “I’m not going to do that!”

“But you  _are_ going to seduce him if he’s gay,” Hermione pointed out. “You might have to fuck him.”

“No, I won’t,” Harry said, a little too quickly. “I’ll figure out another way. In—in any case, don’t side with this priest. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about—nobody dies from syphilis anymore!”

“I know that!” The priest insisted. “After the syphilis remedy potion—”

“ _Muggles_ don’t die from syphilis anymore!” Harry interrupted.

“Actually, Harry, they do,” Hermione said. “In the developing world—”

“It’s almost 7:00!” Harry cut in, not wanting to get corrected yet again by Hermione. “Let’s get to the student lounge.” And he led the way, turning the corner and taking a staircase two steps at a time.

On the third-floor landing, instead of continuing up the flight of stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower, they turned towards a modest wooden door. It was normally unadorned, but today it bore a sign: “HOGWARTS GAY STRAIGHT ALLIANCE.” It was an incredibly well-made sign with golden text in the same font as Voldemort’s ad campaign. Stained-glass filigree outlined the frame in rainbow hues—glimmering and glistening, but not at all gaudy.

“That’s one bitchin’ sign,” Ron said, nodding his head in approval.

“Ron, language!” This came from Hermione.

“I’m just saying! I don’t like to give Malfoy praise, but I’m not gonna lie.”

Harry ignored them both and, with an ever-rising heartbeat, pushed open the door.

This student lounge was normally unassuming. It was not a huge room—with a few oaken desks with matching velvet-cushioned chairs, it could pretty easily fit two dozen people, but not much more. Today, the desks had been pushed to the side and the chairs formed a circle around the room. The deep violet curtains of a large alcove had been pulled back to reveal a wide window that afforded a brilliant view of the castle grounds and the sunset over the mountains.

Draco was there already, pouting at a string of multicolored lights affixed to the ceiling. He waved his wand to straighten them a little. Next to him, Crabbe and Goyle sat in two of the seats and fidgeted nervously, not sure where to look.

When Harry entered, the door creaked on its hinges, and Draco turned around. “Potter!” he spat. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the Gay Straight Alliance,” Harry said, staring stony-faced at the blonde little twink.

“Why the hell are you interested in a Gay Straight Alliance?” Draco accused.

“Because we’re straight allies,” Hermione said, striding through the door to join Harry. Ron followed at her heels. “We believe in standing up for everyone who has been marginalized and oppressed.”

“But you can’t join—it’s not what I—you’re going to ruin—” Draco stopped short of finishing his sentence and began a long string of curses under his breath. “Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger,  _bugger!_ ”

“We’re going to what?” Hermione said, a little innocently but also coldly.

“Merlin’s goddamn beard,” Draco swore again. He gritted his teeth and glared at them. “Welcome to Hogwarts’s first Gay Straight Alliance,” he said, his voice low and ragged, like it was being dragged through broken glass.

“Gee, thanks, Malfoy,” Ron said, immediately taking a seat. “Are there refreshments?”

As if on cue, three house elves appeared with a  _pop_ and began piling one of the desks on the side with an array of finger foods, desserts, and beverages. Hermione opened her mouth to protest at the use of elf labor, but Harry nudged her in the ribs and muttered, “Don’t cause a fuss!”

Hermione hmphed a little, but Ron jumped up and started helping himself to a little of everything. More accurately, to a  _lot_ of everything. He piled two plates with crackers, cheeses, cakes, tarts, and treacles, then gingerly returned to his seat with a plate in each hand and a non-alcoholic raspberry spritzer lodged in the crook of his elbow.

In the next ten uncomfortable minutes, a meager number of students trickled in, and at five minutes after 7:00, Malfoy looked around the room, sighed a little, and stepped into the center.

“ _Sonorus_ ,” he muttered, pointing at his throat. “WELCOME TO THE FIRST MEETING OF HOGW—goddammit  _Finite Incantatem!”_ His voice was painfully loud into the tiny lounge, and everyone winced as it bounced off the walls. Once the spell was canceled, though, he began talking again, this time at a much more manageable volume.

“Welcome to the first meeting of Hogwarts’s Gay Straight Alliance. I’m—ah—delighted by the turnout.”

He bit back another sigh and surveyed the small group of students, which barely amounted to more than a huddle. There was himself, Crabbe, and Goyle representing Slytherin. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat at the opposite side of the room with Luna, Ginny, and Neville (who arrived at 7:00 sharp). Other than that, the only other people to show up were Terry Boot, Orla Quirke, and Morag MacDougal from Ravenclaw.

Draco Malfoy glanced nervously around the intimate space before continuing. “I—I started this group so, uh, Hogwarts could have a safe space for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender witches and wizards. Because, um, that’s important. Wizarding culture doesn’t talk much about LGBT wizards and witches, so I thought it was high time to start talking about it. So I… I started this club for LGBT Hogwarts students and their straight allies.”

Silence and fidgeting. Draco licked his lips and pressed forward. “Let’s go around and introduce ourselves. Give your name, your sexual orientation and your preferred gender pronoun. Er, if you feel comfortable doing so.”

Terry Boot raised a hand.

“It’s not class, Boot,” Draco sighed. “Just ask the question straight out.”

“What’s a preferred gender pronoun?” Terry asked nervously.

“It’s the gender pronoun you prefer to go by,” Hermione butted in. “Some people don’t identify with the gender they were assigned to at birth, so it’s good not to assume someone prefers  _he_ because they look like a boy, or  _her_ because they look like a girl.”

“Thank you, Granger,” Draco said, his voice laden with sarcasm, “for answering a question that wasn’t even aimed at you. But yes, Terry, that’s what a preferred gender pronoun is.”

Draco clapped his hands together and said, “Okay, I’ll start. I’m Draco Malfoy, I’m, uh, straight, and I prefer  _he_ or  _him_ .”

He waved at Orla Quirke to his left. The third-year  _eeped_ a little and said, “I’m—I’m Orla Quirke… You can call me Orla… I’m, uhhhhh, straight? And I go by  _she/her_ .”

Then Terry Boot. “I’m Terry… I’m… straight. Um,  _he/him_ .”

Ron next. “I’m Ron Weasley—call me Ron. I’m straight, and I prefer  _him_ .”

Hermione gave him a pat on the back and went next. “My name is Hermione Granger. I identify as straight, and my preferred gender pronouns are  _she_ and  _her_ .”

She motioned to Neville. “Neville Longbottom. I’m straight, I go by  _he_ and  _him._ ”

Luna hummed faintly for a second before going herself. “I’m Luna…. straight…  _she_ …”

Harry shuffled his feet, knowing he was next. He cleared his throat and modulated his voice in hopes that he’d sound confident and masculine. “I’m Harry Potter… duh, haha.” Terry and Orla smiled faintly at the joke, but everyone was still too shy to laugh. This made Harry more nervous as he plowed on. “I’m… I’m straight.”

_Lies,_ his nefarious brain reminded him.  _You want to fuck Draco. You’ve been looking at his blonde hair since the meeting began, wishing you had the chance to yank it back and bite at his neck_ .

“I’m straight,” he repeated again, trying to quell his unruly thoughts. “And I go by  _he_ and  _him_ .”

He tried desperately not to blush, and he was grateful nobody in the room was skilled at Occlumency. Hopefully, too, they couldn’t read any expression on his face.

The intro continued without a hitch, though, with Ginny: “I’m Ginny Weasley, I’m straight, and I’m a  _she_ .”

Then: “Morag MacDougal. Um, straight.  _She/her_ .”

Then next was Crabbe. A long silence passed, at least fifteen seconds, as he stared at everyone with his mouth open. Then he said, “I don’t get it.”

“You’re introducing yourself,” Draco hissed at him. “Your name, your sexual orientation, and your preferred gender pronoun.”

“Uh… okay. What do those mean?”

“Start with your name!” Draco ground his teeth in frustration. “Your goddamned name—Vincent Crabbe!”

“Oh! I’m Vincent Crabbe. And I’m.... what’s next?”

“Your sexual orientation! Straight, gay, bisexual?”

“I don’t get it.”

Hermione, ever eager to help, put in, “Are you into boys or girls?”

Crabbe stared at her for a second, then said, “You mean, like, for having sex?”

“Yes, you dummy!” Draco snapped at him.

“I haven’t been in anyone yet,” Crabbe said. “I’m a virgin.”

Draco threw his hands up and turned away in frustration. “Ohhh my fucking God. Crabbe! Which the fuck do you  _think_ you like?”

“To have sex with? Wait… wha—why would I have sex with boys? That’s gross.”

“CRABBE!” Draco yelped. “This is a Gay Straight Alliance! You’re not supposed to say that! We accept people of all sexual orientations!”

He took three paces forward, then three paces back, running his fingers through his blonde hair in deep frustration. Harry’s lips parted as he imagined his own fingers in place of Draco’s. He wanted to get that Slytherin even more bothered than Crabbe could!

Draco huffed and said shortly, “Okay, guys, I apologize for Crabbe’s remarks. His name is Crabbe, he’s straight, he’s dumb as rocks, and he goes by  _he_ and  _him_ . Okay, Goyle, your turn.”

There was another fifteen seconds of silence, and then Goyle said, “I… I don’t get it.”

*****

Once the awkward introductions were over, the meeting started. Draco gave them a history lesson about various important witches and wizards who happened to be LGBT, and afterwards they had a discussion on these wizards and on how they could draw inspiration from them. Harry tried hard to determine if Malfoy was sneaking anything nefarious into the lesson, but apart from the fact that all the wizards and witches were Purebloods, nothing stuck out at him.

The meeting ended at 8:00. Malfoy sent them off with a request that they bring their friends with them next time. Most people didn’t hang around any longer, though Ron made sure to heap up another plateful of sweets. Harry lingered over a raspberry spritzer as an excuse to stay longer, hoping to catch Malfoy alone.

Hermione cast Harry a questioning look as she stood in the doorway. Harry tried to communicate that he wanted her to leave so he could have Malfoy alone. And she was no dummy, so she took the hint, dragging Ron with her.

Malfoy was too busy packing up his presentation to notice who stayed and who left, but when it was just him and Harry in the room, he finally looked up.

“Potter,” he said curtly. Had he been angry, Harry was sure he would have spat the words, or snarled.

Merlin’s beard, he wished Draco had snarled!

“Good meeting, Malfoy,” Harry said sincerely, though with no hint of friendliness. “I do believe I learned some things about gay wizards.”

“I’m nothing if not thorough,” Draco said with a chill, turning his gaze away from Harry.

“Ron liked your sign outside,” Harry continued. “It was good craftsmanship.”

“House elves made it.”

“You’re the first student to start a Gay Straight Alliance at Hogwarts. I’m impressed.”

Draco sighed and turned his head towards Harry, looking him directly in the eyes. “Why are you here, Potter?”

“I could ask you the same question… Malfoy.” Harry did not raise his voice. Nor did he move. Nor did he betray any sort of agitation, though a sudden spasm of pure exhilaration burst through him. He kept his whole body still, but he felt the emotion escape through his burning gaze.

Draco Malfoy was still looking directly at Harry, and for a long moment his cold, grey eyes locked on Harry’s green ones. Draco froze, as if transfixed, and his lips parted. Another spasm shot through Harry, but this time it was more than exhilaration—it was arousal. He wanted to see that look on Draco again—unexpectedly vulnerable, spellbound, and a little afraid—but next time when the blonde boy was tangled around him, or underneath him, or bent backwards with his legs over Harry’s shoulders.

The Slytherin boy shook himself suddenly, as if to clear away a fog in his brain. Without looking at Harry, he strode over to the refreshments table to pour himself a glass of chilled pumpkin juice.

“I’m here because I care about gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender wizards,” Draco said formally. “I’m bringing awareness to LGBT issues at Hogwarts.” He took a long sip of pumpkin juice, his head tilted back to expose his neck and his bobbing adam’s apple.

Harry wasn’t sure what to do or say next. What he wished to do was to knock the glass of pumpkin juice out of Draco’s hands, sweep the refreshments off the table, bend the skinny blonde over the tablecloth, and grind his erection in the Slytherin’s clothed arse.

But that wouldn’t take his investigation any further. Sadly.

No, he needed to be more patient, and more subtle.

So, after pulling at his collar and shifting his robes around his tenting crotch, Harry said quietly, “It’s just unexpected, is all. Draco Malfoy, champion of diversity.”

He finished up his raspberry spritzer in one long swig, then set the goblet on the table. “I guess there’s more to you than meets the eyes, Malfoy.” He didn’t know if he meant to be sarcastic or not, but the comment came out sounding mostly serious.

Malfoy neither took nor rejected the compliment. He simply stood by the refreshment table, trying not to look directly at Harry. The Gryffindor let loose a little smile. He meant it to be cold, more like a smirk, but another spasm of arousal warmed it up well beyond what he intended. “I’ll see you next week.”

And he left feeling much too excited, considering he hadn’t in any way discovered Draco Malfoy’s motive. He took the steps two at a time, replaying in his mind the look in Draco’s grey eyes when they had locked gazes.

Before he had much longer to fantasize, though, a silver otter Patronus burst around the corner and stopped inches from Harry’s face. “Harry,” the otter said in Hermione’s voice. “Come to the Room of Requirement for a debriefing.”

So Harry followed Hermione’s Patronus back to the Room of Requirement, where his five friends were waiting for him. This time the room had fashioned itself into a red-lit hookah lounge with massive cushions instead of seats. Ron and Neville sat cross-legged next to each other, exchanging puffs on the hookah’s gold-encrusted pipe.

“So what do you think?” Harry said immediately when he arrived. He was too giddy for the atmosphere, and Ron shot him a strange look.

“You’re killing the vibe, Harry,” he said.

“I think,” Hermione said primly, tugging the pipe from Ron’s hand, “that we accomplished nothing. Not to be a downer or anything.” She took a long, slow drag on the hookah herself, much to Neville’s amusement.

“I didn’t know you smoked, Hermione,” he laughed.

“I appreciate the cultural richness of hookah,” Hermione said formally. “And besides, the nicotine content is very low compared to other forms of smoking.

“But back to the meeting,” Ginny said, taking her own turn at the hookah. “Hermione’s right, we didn’t accomplish anything.”

Luna sat a couple meters back from the hookah, smoking on a personal pipe that the room had provided her. It was almost as long as she was, and it emitted clouds of thick, purple smoke. “We  _did_ accomplish something, though,” she said. “We know that Draco’s gay.”

Everyone turned to look at her. Harry’s face lit up, even though he tried to conceal how happy her statement made him.

“No, Luna,” Hermione said, making an effort to sound patient. “We don’t know that. Whatever gave you the idea,  _definitively_ , that Malfoy is gay?”

“He just is,” Luna said matter-of-factly. “The Nargles told me.”

“That’s not enough, Luna!” Hermione huffed. “We need more! Malfoy even said during the meeting that he identifies as straight.”

“So did Morag,” Luna said. “So did Terry, and I once found a copy of  _Playwitch_ on his bed. Everyone’s just saying they’re straight, because it’s their first time, and they’re too scared to say otherwise.”

“Hey,  _I’m_ straight!” Ron said, a little defensively.

“Yes, but Malfoy isn’t,” Luna said. “He’s gay. And I think he’s very susceptible to Harry’s charm.”

“Are you sure, Luna?” Harry said. He schooled his voice so that he sounded cautious instead of overeager. “Are you sure Malfoy is gay?”

Luna nodded. “I really do believe so. I think, Harry, it’s up to you to seduce him and discover his tricks.”

There was a few seconds of silence. Then Hermione coughed and said, “We still have nothing to go off of. Maybe  _someone_ is trying to wriggle out of having to seduce Draco!”

Harry scooched over to the hookah and took a very long puff. As smoke spilled out of his nose and mouth, he said, “Now wait a moment, Hermione. I trust Luna’s judgment. Sure, she has a different way of seeing things, but I’d trust her with my life.”

He meant this from the bottom of his heart, of course, but he also just really wanted the excuse to go after Draco hardcore with his friends’ unwitting approval.

“I’d trust you with my life, too, Luna!” Hermione insisted. “But I don’t know if I’d trust you with my privates. No offense.”

“None taken,” Luna said. “I might melt your ovaries. But do trust me with Draco’s privates. He is gay. And I think he’s ripe for seduction by Harry Potter.”

“So assuming that he actually  _is_ gay,” Hermione said slowly, “it’s still another leap to say that he’s ripe for seduction by  _Harry_ .”

“Gee, thanks, Hermione,” Harry said with light sarcasm.

“I don’t mean it like that!” Hermione insisted. “You may not be as bumbling and loveable as Ron, and you don’t have sexy red hair, but you’re hot in a conventional sense! And you’re rich.”

“Geeee, thanks,” Harry repeated, this time with real sarcasm laden in his voice. “I’m conventionally hot and rich. Just what I’ve always wanted.”

“To be fair, mate,” Ron said, “I’d take that any day.”

“But back on subject,” Hermione said, blushing furiously. “Malfoy hates Harry. That’s no grounds for seduction.”

“Actually,” Ginny piped up, “that’s perfect grounds for seduction. I can think of plenty people I hate that I’d want to fuck.”

“Precisely, Ginny,” Luna said, giving the redheaded girl a warm smile. “So, Harry, the pressure’s on you now. You must seduce Draco.”

Harry gulped theatrically (though it was really to cover a gulp of excitement). “Welp, I signed up for it,” he said, trying to sound brave instead of excited. “But that means  _you all_ must come up with a plan.”

“I already have one,” Luna said. “Use your Marauder’s Map to run into Draco— _before_ the next meeting, mind. We don’t have seven days to waste. And then strike up conversation.”

“About what?” Harry said. The only things he could think of saying to Draco right now were extremely filthy and of a sexual nature.

“Say that you’ve been thinking about his motives,” Luna suggested, “And say that you figure it’s because someone who’s close to him is gay. Tell him about someone close to you who’s gay—make them up if you have to. But just see where it goes.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Harry asked.

“Come back to us,” Luna said, “and we’ll think of something else. We’ll always be thinking of new ideas. Harry, we’re here to back you up and be your brains. It’s your job to act.”

And Harry was very touched by that. He gave Luna a hug and thanked her for her loyalty. Hermione was also touched by this display, and she joined the hug, and soon all six of them were huddled around Harry, giving him the support he needed.

They acted like they were sending him into battle. But Harry was absolutely giddy with excitement. He was going to seduce Draco Malfoy! It was time to put their plan to action.


	3. The Dursleys Went to Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why exactly is Draco starting the Gay Straight Alliance? He goes to his dad for advice. Also, Harry tries to get closer to Draco by sharing a personal story.

**CHAPTER THREE: The Dursleys Went to Church**

Early Wednesday morning, before anyone else in the Slytherin house had woken up, a Hogwarts house elf popped onto Draco Malfoy’s canopy bed and gently shook him awake.

“Master Malfoy,” the little elf squeaked, easily keeping his voice to a whisper. “You is to be getting up now!”

“Uggghhh,” Draco moaned, rolling over and burying his face into his pillow. “Clockles, what time is it?”

Clockles the house elf kept shaking at Draco’s bare, milky-white shoulder. “5:25, sir,” he said. “I is waking you up at this time just like you asked.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Draco groaned. “Now leave and let me sleep!”

The house elf kept shaking the young Slytherin. “You is saying before that you would give this excuse. And you is also saying if you kept trying to send me away, I should rip the covers off of you.”

Draco let out another moan, this time long and loud and with a garble of unintelligible sounds laced throughout. He swatted at Clockles, trying to get him to go away.

Clockles sighed and, with one deft movement, grasped the top of the silver-green covers with his spindly hands and ripped them clean off Draco. Draco moaned even louder and curled into the fetal position, grasping at his pillows.

“You is not to be sleeping naked, Master Malfoy,” Clockles scolded him. “You will catch a cold!”

“Nothing Madame Pomfrey can’t clear up with a Pepper-up Potion,” Malfoy muttered irritably. “Besides, I like it. The satin sheets feel luxurious against my perfect skin. Now go away, let me sleep.”

Clockles sighed and lifted his slender foot, gingerly placing it on the crest of Draco’s round butt. Then he slid his toes down the creamy skin and tried to work them into the crack.

“CLOCKLES!” Draco yelped, suddenly wide awake. “What are you doing?!”

“You is saying, Master Malfoy,” Clockles explained wide-eyed, “that if you still wouldn’t wake up, that I should be putting my foot inside your bottom.”

“I said  _‘put a foot up my arse!’_ ” Draco snarled. “It’s a figurative expression! You’re not supposed to actually put your foot inside my anus!”

“Oh,” Clockles said humbly. “Well, you is awake now.”

“I sure am,” Draco said with a death glare. “Now get me my fucking clothes. And make sure to put together a good outfit!”

Once Draco was dressed, he and Clockles went over to the Slytherin common room. It was deserted, clean and pristine from a night of house elf cleaning. It was also completely silent except for the crackle of the fire, which was low but still smoldering, its orange flames laced with flickers of emerald green.

“I need some privacy now, Clockles,” Draco said. “Stand watch by the door and make sure no one comes in.”

“How should I stop them?” Clockles asked.

“I dunno, just make up any old excuse,” Draco replied irritably.

“What kind of excuse?”

“ _Any_ kind of fucking excuse!” Draco hissed. “Tell them I’m wanking it, whatever—I don’t give a fuck. Just keep them out for fifteen minutes!”

Clockles bowed his head in deference and scampered off to guard the entrance to the dorm hallways. Draco, meanwhile, hastened over to the fireplace and glanced at his watch. It was 5:32am.

At that precise moment, the emerald green flickers suddenly consumed the whole fire, and Lucius Malfoy’s head appeared amidst the flames.

“You’re two minutes late, father,” Draco said coolly.

“No, I’m not,” Lucius denied, his voice containing a fair dose of the petulance that he’d passed on to his son. “Anyways, I’m sure you just got into the room yourself. Merlin knows you’re bad at waking up early.”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t have Flooed last night,” Draco whined. “It’s bleeding early as twat!”

“I had to stop by Durmstrang for the week,” his dad explained. “I’m two hours ahead of you. It’s a perfectly reasonable time over here.”

“7:30 in the morning is bleeding early, too!” Draco protested.

“For a sloth like you, yes it is,” Lucius countered. “Now what is it you could possible want to talk about, if you’re so much against getting up at this hour?”

“I already told you, father! It’s about the club you made me start. I wanted to report on the first meeting, and I wanted to tell you: we have a problem.”

“The magical fag club?” Lucius said.

“Father!” Draco snapped. “It’s called a Gay Straight Alliance! You shouldn’t use words like that—after all, it’s the Dark Lord’s idea to start this whole diversity campaign to neutralize the moderates. And it was  _you_ who told me to run a Gay Straight Alliance here at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, I did tell you to do that,” Lucius conceded. “But I didn’t tell you to badger me with every little detail. The task is simple: start a club, get the students sympathetic towards the Dark Side, and in a few months, once the Wizarding World’s guard is down, we’ll do a complete takeover.”

“But father!” Draco said. “I have a problem! Harry Potter has joined my club.”

Lucius’s head bobbed up and down in the flames as he laughed heartily. “Harry Potter?” he chortled, tears streaming down his cheeks and hissing in the embers. “Harry Potter’s a wandsucker?”

“Stop it, father!” Draco whined. “ _Wandsucker_ is not an appropriate term for gay wizards! Anyway, Potter says he’s just an ally.”

“An ally of what?”

“An ally of the gay community, father! You should be on top of this terminology.”

“No, I shouldn’t, Draco. I’m not responsible for the anal outreach arm of the diversity campaign.”

“It’s LGBT outreach, father! Not… not…  _anal_ _outreach?_ Jesus fucking Christ, what’s wrong with you? Anyway, an ally is a straight person who aligns themselves in support of the LGBT community. And Harry has joined the club under this pretense.”

“So?” Lucius said. “Why’s that a problem?”

“He’s obviously spying on us,” Draco said. “He’s the Dark Lord’s biggest enemy. He could threaten the whole operation!”

“Then neutralize him.”

“ _How_ , though, father? I can’t kill him—that’d destroy the entire moderate image we’re trying to cultivate.”

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Draco,” he said, his voice laden with impatience, “this is a task I delegated to  _you_ . It’s your job now. And it’s not a hard one! Run the club, cultivate our image in Hogwarts, and do whatever it takes to make sure Potter isn’t a threat.”

“Daaaaddd,” Draco whined, “Give me an idea! Give me a real, concrete idea I can go off of.”

Lucius rolled his eyes and threw Draco a smirk. “Seduce him.”

“Stop joking, father!”

“Who said I was joking? That nancy Potter boy seems like a wandsucker to me. Maybe he is spying, but I’ll bet he has ulterior motives to show up at that club of yours.”

“Merlin’s beard, dad,” Draco muttered, running his fingers through his hair. “Merlin’s fucking beard.”

Lucius glared at Draco. “There’s my concrete idea, Draco! That’s more than you deserve. This is  _your_ task. Figure it out.”

“Fatherrrrr!”

But suddenly there was sound just outside the doorway to the dorm hallway. Draco jumped in fright and hissed, “Someone’s coming dad! Go!”

“Finally!” Lucius muttered, and he obliged much too quickly for Draco’s comfort. One second his head popped out of view, and the next second Pansy sidled through the doorway into the common room.

“Hiya, Draco,” she said brightly. “I heard you were wanking it.”

“Goddammit,” Draco muttered, cursing Clockles’ existence. “Then why the fuck are you in here?”

“Thought you might need a hand,” Pansy said slyly.

“Go bugger a Muggle,” Draco snapped. And he stormed across the room and out of the stone door that served as the entrance to Slytherin House.

Draco was so angry at his father for blowing him off. All he wanted was a little bit of guidance and just a little bit of support—was that too much ask? After all, Draco was personally helping his father to further the Dark Lord’s cause here in Hogwarts. He was due a little respect!

He stormed up a flight of stairs, out of the dungeon and onto a landing beside a windowed alcove. Outside he could see the lake, shrouded in early morning fog that the first glimpses of sun had not yet chased away. Though visibility was poor, he did see something moving along the edge of the lake—a figure, a person.

It was Harry Potter, dressed in jogging shorts and a tank top, doing an early morning run around the lake.

“Merlin’s twat, does he really get up this early?” Draco muttered to himself. He hoisted a knee up on the alcove so he could get closer to the window.

_Fucking Potter_ , he thought furiously, glaring at the figure.  _Why’s he have to be so fucking perfect? Beats the Dark Lord—not once, not twice, not even three times, but FIVE times. Has best friends who would die for him—fuck knows Crabbe and Goyle wouldn’t do that for me! Teachers love him. And—holy Merlin, are those_ muscles?

Harry Potter was building muscle mass! Draco shivered in the cool morning air and grasped at his slim, pale body in a sudden wave of self-consciousness. He wasn’t tan and built like Potter. He wasn’t a teacher’s pet, except for that greasy old Snape. And he wasn’t nearly as powerful. Potter had everything, and now he was trying to ruin his club—the one thing Draco had to prove to his father that he was worth something.

“Goddamn you, Potter,” Draco murmured.

He had to take that boy down a peg. He couldn’t let Harry succeed in taking over the Gay Straight Alliance for the side of the Light.

_Maybe my father’s on to something_ , Draco mused.  _Maybe Harry_ is _ripe for seduction_ .

And as he kept his eyes locked on the dark-haired hunk running around the lake, he let an idea form in his mind.

 

*****

After running around the lake twice, Harry retreated to the Quidditch locker rooms, where Oliver Wood had set up a weight room a few years back. Harry didn’t used to be the type to weightlift, but during training over the summer, he found out that he quite enjoyed it. He loved the strain of pushing himself, he loved the alone time, and he sure as hell loved the results.

He stripped off his tank top and tapped the Wizarding wireless in the corner of the room a couple of times until it changed to the Magical Dance Music station. To his delight, Celestina Warbeck’s new single “Leviosa Lover” started just as he positioned himself on the mat to do some pushups. Hermione and Ron hated this song—they said it was a shallow song about Wizarding clubs and dancing and party charms. Hermione said the song went far past innuendo and became bluntly sexual and revolting. Ron hated the third verse featuring American hip-hop wizard Lil Lethifold. They both thought that the old Celestina Warbeck was “so much better.” They both agreed she sold out with her new album.

But Harry fucking loved it.

The song was a fast-paced song, so Harry’s reps were equally fast-paced, and as he pushed himself up and down in rhythm with Celestina’s crooning voice and the beat’s throbbing bass, he imagined that Draco was underneath him, his cute Slytherin butt pointed north and his pale face buried in the mat. He kept count of his reps, but he got so excited he went past his usual fifty, and by the time Lil Lethifold’s verse hit, he realized he’d done close to 100 pushups.

Feeling the pleasant burn in his chest and abs, he bounced to his feet and bobbed up and down to Lil Lethifold’s flow. Then he switched over to the free weights for some bicep curls.

After nearly an hour on the weights, Harry turned the radio up even louder and went to rinse off. He stripped himself naked a good twenty feet before he actually reached the shower, always subconsciously hoping that someone would stumble in unaware and be forced to admire his body.

When he was done with his shower, it was 7:30. He dressed quickly and ran off to the Great Hall for some breakfast. He had a free period for his 9:00 block, but he and Dumbledore used that for training, plus they started an hour earlier. Harry cursed himself for letting slip that he regularly woke up at 5:00 and rarely slept more than 4 or 5 hours a night anyway.

So at 8:00 sharp, he was in front of the gargoyles that led to Dumbledore’s office. “Password?” the gargoyle asked. He hadn’t spoken in the past, but he knew Harry by now.

“There’s a new one, isn’t there?” Harry said.

The gargoyle neither confirmed nor denied Harry’s question. He just smiled and waited for the young Gryffindor to remember.

“Oh yeah! Oh…” Harry winced as he remembered. “Chocolate anuses?”

The gargoyle nodded and swung aside to let Harry up the spiral staircase. Harry stood on the first step and let the moving stairs take him to the headmaster’s office.

When he entered, Dumbledore was waiting by Fawkes’s perch, cooing as he petted his beloved phoenix. “Hello, Harry,” he said when the boy entered.

“Hi, Dumbledore,” Harry responded. “Listen… about your new password. That’s not a real Muggle candy, is it?”

“It sure is,” Dumbledore assured him. “Look it up. They’re more delicious than they sound. Which makes sense—after all, they’re pure chocolate, even if they are in the shape of an anus.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Harry said dryly, though he secretly thought it would be funny to try one. “Let’s just get started on training. What do you have for me today?”

“It’s a review day,” Dumbledore said. “We’re going to go over all the attack spells you’ve learned. But first I must ask: Have you given any thought to how we might raise 50,000 galleons to counteract Voldemort’s airtime for his Pureblood diversity campaign?”

“Has anyone else thought of ideas?” Harry said, dodging the question.

Dumbledore sighed. “They sure did,” he said. “I’ve gotten at least two dozen Patronuses since the meeting, and every idea has been awful. Tonks suggested we tithe our salaries towards buying up some ad time, which would be a bigger burden on those of us with a lower income. Not to mention, it’s so much already to ask our Order members to put themselves in danger, much less give up their hard-earned cash. And then Mundungus Fletcher suggested we rob a Muggle bank and exchange the cash for galleons.”

“To be fair,” Harry said, “We  _could_ get away with that one.”

Dumbledore knew Harry was joking, but he still leveled a frown at him. “That’s unethical, Harry. We shouldn’t abuse our powers.”

Harry shrugged and tried to hide a smile. “Maybe we just have to go along with Fred and George’s idea and run a burlesque show to raise money.”

Suddenly a Patronus came bursting through the window in the form of a raggedly old mutt, and it glided up to Dumbledore. Elphias Doge’s voice came forth, saying, “I’ve got it, Albus! We hire a bunch of street canvassers to raise the money for us! I was reading a book about Muggles, and that’s how their charities raise money sometimes.”

Dumbledore took a full three steps back from the Patronus and coughed very loudly. He threw shade at the Patronus and said, “Let he who suggests street canvassing pick up the first clipboard!”

Harry cocked his head and said, “You know, that’s not the worst idea in the world. I saw it in the Muggle world all the time.”

“We’re not a Muggle nonprofit, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “In the WIzarding World, asking for money on the streets is gauche. The community’s too small for that—it’s downright awkward.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said. “I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t be able to approach people on the streets and ask for money myself. But that’s because everyone knows who I am, and it would just be weird.”

“Speaking of which,” Dumbledore said, “are there ways in which you could use your fame to help us raise money?”

“Come up with a solid ad campaign idea first,” Harry said swiftly, “before I even consider that.”

Dumbledore humphed a bit at Harry’s rejection, so Harry quickly fumbled around for a change of subject. “So, uh… so I went to the first meeting of the Gay Straight Alliance yesterday,” he said quickly.

Dumbledore perked up. “And how did it go?”

“Okay, I guess,” Harry said. “The club isn’t that big yet, so maybe Malfoy’s influence won’t extend very far. I just need to find out some way to get close to him and find out how I can make him less of a threat.”

“You want my advice, Harry?” Dumbledore said. “Befriend him. I know I called him a little ferret last time we talked, but everyone has a little bit of good in them, even Malfoy.”

“Even Voldemort?” Harry countered shrewdly.

“I mean,” Dumbledore waffled, “maybe  _something_ about Voldemort is good. He’s, uh, sure worked hard to get where he is, even if he did the wrong thing. It shows… work ethic?”

“You’re reaching, headmaster,” Harry said dryly.

“You get my point, though. Open up to Draco—within reason, of course—don’t go giving away Order secrets or making yourself absolutely vulnerable. But show Draco you care about him.”

“I don’t, though,” Harry pointed out. “I think he’s a snake.”

“Good thing you speak Parseltongue, then,” Dumbledore said with a chuckle. “But seriously, my dear boy. Wouldn’t the most complete way to neutralize Draco be to win him over to our side? I do sincerely believe there’s good in Master Malfoy.”

 

*****

“There’s nothing good in Malfoy at all,” Ron said. It was four hours later, and he, Harry, and Hermione had just left Transfiguration class to go to lunch. “You may have to seduce him, Harry, you poor devil. But keep your guard up! Make him think you’re letting him in, but don’t actually do that.”

“I’m not dumb, Ron,” Harry said. “And no fucking way am I letting my guard down around Malfoy.”

“You better not,” Ron said ominously.

“But you  _do_ need to do what Luna suggested,” Hermione said, “and find him and make more of a connection with him.”

“What it is she suggesting we talk about again?” Harry asked.

“About his motives. About how you think he’s starting this club because he knows someone gay. And then you tell him that that’s your motive, too—throw off the scent a little so he doesn’t think you’re just in it to spy on him.”

“Okay,” Harry said cautiously.

“Make up a gay friend or relative if you have to,” Ron said. “Or whatever. Just find Malfoy and start talking to him.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “I actually think I have a real story already—I won’t have to invent anything. But I need the Marauder’s Map to find him, though. Hermione, you were using it last?”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. She would borrow it every now and then to find Ron and surprise-snog him. “I have it in my bag.”

And, despite the mess of books and quills and toiletries in her oversized tote, she pulled out the raggedy old map in half a second flat and handed it to Harry. “There you go,” she said. “Find the ferret.”

“Sure thing,” Harry said. “Oh, and Ron… congrats on the Transfiguration essay. You got an O?”

“He sure did,” Hermione said proudly. She grabbed her boyfriend gently around the ribs and gave him a kiss on the neck, just below his ear. “I’m very,  _very_ proud of him,” she added, directing her words more towards Ron in a husky half-whisper.

“Eurgh, me too,” Harry said, “but forgive me, mate, if I don’t nibble at your ear because of it.”

“You probably couldn’t do it as well as Hermione anyway,” Ron said.

“Don’t tell me I can’t do something, now!” Harry warned. “Or I might try to prove you wrong!”

“Yeah, well prove me wrong by doing it to Draco, not to me,” Ron said. He scrunched his face up as he imagined it, though. “Eurgh back at you, mate. I can’t believe I just said that.”

Harry laughed at Ron’s revulsion, but his heart fluttered as he imagined nibbling at Draco’s ear. He would nibble just below the lobe, right where it met his neck. And maybe he’d try to hold himself back, but he’d be none too gentle. He’d bite a little. And at the same time, he’d grab Draco around the waist and hold him close so their hips would grind together as the twinky little Slytherin writhed underneath Harry’s ministrations. Then Harry’s hands would run around to the small of Draco’s back, then down the curve of that sweet, sweet buttock—

“Oi, Harry!” Ron said, snapping his fingers in front of his best friend’s face.

Harry jumped, completely thrown out of his daydream.

“You look like you’re a million miles away, mate,” Ron continued. “Come back to earth, find Draco, and… and… do whatever you gotta do.”

“Sure, sure,” Harry said quickly, trying to hide any guilt in his expression. “I’ll, uh, get going, then.” And he held up the Marauder’s Map to find Draco.

Ron and Hermione went off (“to study,” Hermione insisted, though Harry guessed they were going to go snog somewhere). This left Harry on his own with the map, and after a minute of searching, he found Malfoy’s ink dot meandering around the lake.

He folded up the map and slipped it in his robes pocket. Then Harry left the castle, striding purposefully through the halls, out the double-door entrance, and down the grassy hill towards the lake. It wasn’t long before he saw his Slytherin rival, idling by a weeping willow that bent down so far that its leaves lapped at the lake water.

Harry gulped and steeled himself. He was so much better at taking action than at making conversation. He’d rather just grab the Slytherin boy and pull him in for a bruising snog. But he had to win him over before he did that. Talking was a necessity.

“Fancy seeing you here,” the Gryffindor started out, slowing his pace as he approached Draco.

“Potter,” Draco said. The word, far from being spat out as it normally was, came with a guarded tone. He was much more subdued than normal, and he eyed Harry almost as if he’d never seen him before.

Harry felt a little short of breath out of nervousness, and he tried to hide it as he took an extra gulp of air. “I’ve been thinking, Malfoy,” he said, “about why you started the Gay Straight Alliance.”

“Oh?” Still very guarded. Draco’s body was turned towards Harry, as if inviting him to talk, but he did not make eye contact.

“It must be for the same reason I joined,” Harry said. “You know someone who’s gay.”

“So that’s why you joined, is it?” Draco said. “You know someone who’s gay.” He didn’t believe for a second that that was Harry’s real reason, but he was a little intrigued as to what Harry would say next.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “When I got back to Privet Drive at the beginning of the summer—that’s where my aunt and uncle and cousin live—”

“I know that,” Draco said a little impatiently.

Harry glared at the interruption. “Anyway, when I got back to Privet Drive, I found out that the Dursleys were going to church.”

Draco laughed. “To  _church?”_

“Yeah, it’s a Muggle thing,” Harry said. “They have this thing called religion, where they believe in God, but it’s also weird because they believe in all sorts of different versions of this one God, and they break off into groups and meet up every week in a building that they call a church. But that’s just one religion called Christianity: there’s others that—”

“Harry!” Draco snapped. “I’m not completely fucking retarded. Though apparently you are—there’s  _lots_ of witches and wizards who are also religious. Some are Mudbloods that cling to their Muggle religions, but there’s also Pureblooded religious ideologies, too. A lot of us believe in a higher power.”

“Oh,” Harry said, truly feeling stupid. “Oh. Um… don’t say  _Mudblood_ . That’s a slur.”

“I know it is, you minge—that’s why I used it.”

“Shut up, you git,” Harry snapped back. His temper flared, and he wished even harder than ever that the two of them could just stop talking. He really needed to dominate that Slytherin boy and teach him a lesson.

“I’ll shut up when you stop displaying the intelligence of Goyle,” Malfoy countered.

Harry flexed his fingers and almost grabbed his wand out of the invisible holster he kept strapped to his left wrist. But instead he turned his mind back towards his goal and continued his original story. “ _Anyway_ , as I was saying… I came back to Privet Drive, and my aunt and uncle and my cousin Dudley were going to church. I was a little shocked, because they never went to church before, and none of them had really expressed a belief in God.

“But then I went over to have tea with my neighbor Arabella, and she told me that Dudley’s friend Piers Polkiss had come out as gay over the school year. Apparently Dudley didn’t have a problem with it—in fact, he accepted Piers just as he always had, and that made my aunt and uncle angry. They hate anyone who’s odd or different, and that includes gay people.

“Anyway, after calling Piers a bunch of nasty names, then calling Dudley a  _fag enabler_ , they forced him to go to church with them. They said it was the only place left that still had the right idea about those fags. Dudley was beyond livid—my aunt and uncle have spoiled him rotten his whole life, and he’s never been forced to do anything (other than that ludicrous diet of his). He screamed and cursed all the way to the car, and when they got home, he refused to talk to them.”

Harry looked out at the lake. He could see a thestral splashing around in the shallows at the other side.

Draco cleared his throat. “What then? What happened next?”

“Oh,” Harry said, “that’s all. That’s the end of the story.”

“Well, that’s not much of a story,” Draco groused. “There’s no end to it. What happened to Piers? Did Dudley stop accepting him? Did Dudley stand up to his parents and stop going to church?”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “I was there for barely a month. It just struck me, is all. My aunt and uncle have always been closed-minded and cruel, but it was the first time I saw their anger directed so specifically at gay people. So when I learned you were starting the club, I wanted to join.”

Draco nodded slowly. “That’s… that’s a story, Potter. Not a particularly enthralling story, and (as I said before) there doesn’t seem to be any point, and you sure brought it to a maudlin conclusion. But good on you for oversharing.”

Once again Harry felt his temper flare up, but he bit his tongue. To calm himself, he imagined throwing Draco to the grassy ground and ripping up his robes so he could tear apart Malfoy’s shirt and scratch at his—

Well, damn, this wasn’t actually calming Harry down at all. He casually rearranged his robes to hide the fact that he was actually pushing down a growing erection.

“So, Draco,” Harry said, licking his suddenly dry lips. “Do you know anyone who’s gay?”

“No,” Draco said shortly. “I started this club out of the goodness of my heart. The Wizarding World doesn’t understand LGBT people very well, and I wanted to spread some awareness. So many of the ancient spells are centered around tribes and blood magic, and a lot of Purebloods look down on gay couples for cutting bloodlines short.”

“That’s silly,” Harry said. “Aren’t there spells or potions for in vitro fertilization?”

“For _what?”_

“Gay Muggle couples do it all the time,” Harry said. “For lesbians, they find a man to donate sperm, and then they fertilize an egg and have their own biological child. Gay male couples do sort of the same thing, except they give one of their sperm to fertilize an egg, and then they pay a woman to carry the baby for them.”

"Get the hell out of here,” Draco marveled. “You’re pulling my leg. That’s not possible.”

“Muggles do it all the time!” Harry insisted. “Ask Hermione—she knows everything.”

“But that’s magic! Muggles can’t do magic.”

“It’s science,” Harry corrected him. “And Muggles have gotten so fucking good at it that half the time they don’t even need magic to live like we do.”

“Damn,” Draco said. “I’ve never said this before, but for once, Muggles have actually impressed me.”

Harry smirked. “Oh Malfoy, that’s just the beginning. Muggles do a hell of a lot more than that! You should take a Muggle studies class.”

“Full schedule!” Draco said swiftly. “Anyways, Purebloods are still better.”

“That sounds an awful lot like the Purebloods who say straight people are better,” Harry said shrewdly.

“No, it isn’t!” Draco said quickly. “It’s different. It’s just… different.”

Harry smiled a wry smile and allowed himself to step closer to Malfoy. “Sure, Malfoy,” he said sardonically.

Draco noticed that Harry stepped closer. But instead of retreating, he also took another stride towards Harry. The Gryffindor boy raised his eyebrows just a little, clearly not expecting the advance.

Draco flashed Harry one cold, quick smile, then took another stride until their faces were barely two feet away. Then he swept past him, brushing down the length of his arm as he bent down to retrieve his schoolbag, which was lying next to Harry’s feet.

“I won’t say it’s my pleasure,” Draco said as he stood up, brushing against Harry again before maneuvering away, “but I’ll see you later.”

And he quickly strode off towards the castle, leaving Harry a little stunned. Draco smirked, knowing he’d done a good job. If he was to seduce Potter, this was exactly how he should do it: slowly and teasingly, insulting him and jabbing him throughout. The boy was really reacting to it!

“You were tenting, Potter!” Draco marveled to himself as he skipped up the slope. “You were actually turned on!” And, though he hated the boy, this was a huge boost to his self-confidence.

To be honest, Draco wasn’t sure why he’d decided to seduce Potter. Maybe it was because his father suggested it, and he wanted to prove to his father that he could follow through. Or maybe he wanted, finally, for _once_ , to actually have control over Harry Potter. Maybe he wanted to make Harry fall for him, at least physically if not emotionally, and once the Gryffindor had been fully taken in and turned to putty, Draco would take great pleasure in dropping him in the dirt.

But the reason that kept cropping up in his mind, no matter how much he tried to push it back, was this: he fucking wanted to do it. Beyond any machinations, he wanted badly to get fucked by Harry Potter. He hated the boy’s guts, and yet he could not lie to himself: he daydreamed all the time about making Harry fall for him.

Of course Draco had lied during the first Gay Straight Alliance meeting. He wasn’t straight. He was gayer than a bag of dicks, and he’d realized this since at least his Third Year, if not subconsciously sooner. He just wasn’t out yet—not to his friends, not to him mom, and definitely not to his dad.

And he’d be damned if he didn’t want to find the hottest, most powerful man in the world to fuck him. He was a Slytherin, after all—he deserved the best! And, though it pained him to admit it, Harry Potter  _was_ the best. He was the hottest, most powerful boy in the whole school. He was the best Seeker Hogwarts had seen in nearly a century. He had fought Voldemort five times and survived. And he was built like a statue of a Greek god.

And what of the problems in the way?—the fact that Harry hated him, the fact that neither of them were out. Mere inconveniences. He  _would_ overcome.

Draco was determined to seduce Harry Potter.


	4. Gay Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco decides to liven up the Gay Straight Alliance by throwing a party. Will it get out of hand, or will it allow Harry the chance to make a move?

**CHAPTER FOUR: Gay Party**

The rest of Wednesday was a rash of study groups and homework, so Harry didn’t get a chance to meet with his co-conspirators until Thursday morning, where they normally talked over their D.A. plans for their weekly Thursday night meetings.

“I forgot, how did it go yesterday with Malfoy?” Ron asked halfway through a discussion on a new shield charm Harry had learned from Mad-Eye Moody.

“Pretty well, I think,” Harry said. He could see Draco on the other end of the room at the Slytherin table. The blonde boy ignored the chocolate eclair in front of him in favor of gabbing with Pansy Parkinson. “We talked a little bit.”

“About what?” Ron pushed.

Harry willed Draco to turn his gaze towards the Gryffindor table, but the Slytherin remained engrossed in his conversation. “Oh, about what Luna told me to talk about. Knowing gay people. I told him about Dudley’s gay friend.”

His friends chuckled. They had heard the story already, and Hermione in particular liked for Harry to retell it. “And what did he say back?” Ginny asked.

Harry fiddled with his napkin. “Not much. He said he didn’t know anyone gay and that he was starting the club out of the goodness of his heart.”

“I can’t bring myself to believe that at all,” Neville said. “Obviously we know this is a plot to win Hogwarts students over to the Dark side. I just wish we knew why he’s targeting gay people.”

“I’ll figure it out, I promise,” Harry said. “I’ve just got to get closer to him.” Again he looked up at the Slytherin table, trying to catch Draco’s eye, and again the Slytherin boy was too involved with his own friends to pay any notice.

“Use the Marauder’s Map again,” Luna said. “Find him and seduce him. I know you’ll be great at it.”

“Uh, thank, Luna,” Harry said awkwardly. “Glad you have so much faith in me.”

“We all do, Harry,” Hermione said sincerely. “Even in something as off-putting as seducing Malfoy.”

Ginny nodded absently in agreement. She had been reading throughout the whole meal, only now and again adding her thoughts or even paying attention. “Go bone him, Harry,” she said in absent-minded encouragement.

“Ew, Ginny!” Ron barked. “Pay attention! What is it you’re reading anyway?”

“Book for Muggle Studies,” she said, tipping it up just long enough for them to read the cover.

_“The Science of Ancient Celtic Rituals: A Metaphysical Journey_ ,” Hermione read out loud.

“You can borrow it when I’m done,” Ginny said, not needing Occlumency to read the older girl’s mind. “Which will be soon—this is probably the best book I’ve read for class yet.”

“Still, though,” Ron sighed. “This is more important than schoolwork—we’re trying to bring Malfoy down!”

Ginny threw Ron a dirty look, but she reluctantly closed the textbook and entered the conversation. But then it was Harry’s turn not to pay attention. Though he cared deeply about what they had to say, he was too wrapped up in trying to catch Draco’s eye.

And then suddenly, finally, Draco looked away from his conversation, and for a full three seconds his gaze locked with Harry’s. Harry’s heartbeat quickened, and his palms began sweating. He gulped and blinked and let his mouth part, his tongue darting out to moisten his suddenly dry lips. Draco’s eyes were so gray and so sharp, and his skin so smooth and supple! Harry imagined they were three inches apart instead of three tables. He imagined his hands were running down Draco’s sharp cheekbone and towards the corners of his mouth.

And at the end of those three seconds, just before he looked away again, Draco flashed Harry a trace of a smile—cold and quick, but unmistakable. Harry was sure he gulped loud enough for the teacher’s table to hear. And he went from half-mast to full hardon so quickly he was surprised his pants didn’t rip apart.

“What do you think, Harry?” he heard Hermione say.

“Wow,” he whispered in reverent response.

“Harry!” Hermione snapped. “That’s completely inappropriate!”

Luna, who happened to be sitting next to Harry, glanced over at his lap and said, “Harry, do you have an erection? _”_

“Harry James Potter!” Hermione screeched. “We’re talking about protecting school children from the Cruciatus curse! How could you possibly find that arousing?!”

Harry jumped and blushed, stammering, “I—I—I wasn’t… I wasn’t…”

“He wasn’t paying attention to us,” Luna offered up helpfully. “He was completely ignoring what you had to say, Hermione.”

“Unless he gets off on his Saving People Thing,” Ginny added with her lips quivering.

“No, I swear—” Harry stumbled, “No, I promise it wasn’t… Uh, I wasn’t…”

“You’re in the dog house, whatever you say next,” Hermione said with a glare. “Now stop daydreaming!”

 

*****

 

Try as he might, though, Harry had a hard time running into Draco Malfoy over the next day. Though he used the Marauder’s Map, most of the time Draco was holed up in the Slytherin dormitories, and the rest of the time he kept moving around too much for Harry to pinpoint.

The next time he actually ran into Draco was quite by accident. It was late Friday morning, and Harry and Ginny were walking to the library to study. Just as they were about to enter the library, they nearly ran smack-dab into Draco, who was leaving with a stack of old, stained manuals.

“Malfoy,” Ginny said as a way of greeting.

“Weasley,” he said formally, a little taken aback by the sudden interaction. “Potter.”

“You’ve got plans for next week’s meeting?” Ginny asked.

“Next week’s meeting of what?”

“The Gay Straight Alliance, silly,” Ginny said.

Draco bristled at being called  _silly_ . “Of course I do,” he said icily. “I’ve got plans for four weeks out.”

“Well, they’d better be interesting,” Ginny said. “You should throw a party afterwards or something. Nobody came last time.”

“People came!” Draco said irritably.

“Like ten people,” Ginny laughed. “And they’re not gonna come back if all you do is slideshows.”

“It’s LGBT Wizarding history!” Draco huffed.

“For what it’s worth,” Harry put in, “I certainly found it interesting. It was all new to me.”

“Nobody asked your opinion, Potter,” Draco snapped before turning back to Ginny. “You just need to appreciate Wizarding heritage a bit more. Maybe you’ve been spending too much time with half-breeds and Mudbloods.”

Of course Harry was angry at Malfoy for using that slur again, but he bristled most at the rejection of his compliment. “You watch your mouth, Malfoy!” he said. The Slytherin ignored him.

“All I’m saying, though,” Ginny humphed, “is you  _still_ need to make the meetings more interesting. Take it or leave it.”

 

*****

 

And apparently Draco took it, because even by the end of Friday new signs were going up for next Tuesday’s meeting. Hermione brought one into the Room of Requirement to show Harry, interrupting him in the middle of his evening spell practice. “Take a look,” she said, shoving it in his face.

 

**PARTY TUESDAY!!!**

Come One, Come All to the Hogwarts Gay Straight Alliance

Cultural Appreciation of LGBT Wizarding History

Followed by a Lively Social Gathering!

All Are Welcome, Refreshments Provided!

7:00pm in the Astronomy Tower Study Lounge

 

Harry nodded slowly and said, “Looks like fun.”

Hermione sighed and conjured a Patronus. “Come to the Room of Requirement right now!” she told the silvery otter. It nodded, then yawned open its vagina to give birth to four baby otters, who glided off to deliver the message. The original otter watched them go, gnawing absently at the umbilical cords.

With a wave of her wand, Hermione dispelled the otter, and it dissolved into the air around it. Then she paced around the room, waiting for the others to arrive.

Within five minutes, Neville, Luna, Ginny, and Ron had joined them, looking a little nonplussed. They didn’t normally meet on Friday evenings.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked. The room provided them with an ocean view and two long porch swings that faced each other, and they sat down three to a seat.

“This,” Hermione said, holding up the party invitation. “They’re all over the school.”

“Oh wicked, a party!” Ron said, bouncing in his seat. Hermione and Ginny, who sat on either side of him, gave him a peeved look when the swing wobbled treacherously and almost tipped them off.

“It’s for next week’s Gay Straight Alliance meeting,” Hermione said.

“Sounds like a good time,” Neville said brightly.

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” Luna added.

“Exactly,” Hermione said, “and that’s a problem. We’re supposed to be neutralizing Draco’s club, and that becomes a whole lot harder when a mob of students start showing up—which they  _will_ do for a party!”

Everyone deflated a little. Ginny scuffed at the floor with her toe and said sheepishly, “I’m afraid that’s my fault. Harry and I ran into Draco this morning, and I told him the club was boring and he needed to liven it up.”

“Ginny!” Hermione actually slapped the redhead with the party invitation, though it didn’t hurt since it was only parchment. “How could you do that? This could seriously jeopardize our efforts!”

“I’m sorry,” Ginny insisted, “but come on! Last meeting was boring as hell! I’ll be damned if I can sit through something like that again.”

“But we learned about Quendolyn the Queer and the formation of the Same-Sex-Smitten Sorcerer’s Society!”

“And this meeting we’re going to have a party,” Ginny countered. “Look me straight in the eye and try to tell me that that’s not the better option. The point of a Gay Straight Alliance is to bring LGBT students together so they can find a sense of community in a safe space. The point isn’t to sit through  _another_ history lecture. Professor Binns’s are bad enough already. I’d rather get fingerbanged by Snape in a musty broom closet than sit through another slide show.”

“Actually, Ginny,” Ron put in cautiously, “the point of this  _is_ to sort of make the club fail, but otherwise, yeah, I’d agree with you.” After a pregnant pause, he added, “Minus getting fingerbanged by Snape.”

The room plunged into an awkward silence for about ten seconds before Luna sighed happily and said, “Look at the silver lining, though—we get a real, queer, magical party! I haven’t been this excited since my summer trip looking for the Crumple-Horned Snorcack.”

“How did that go, by the way?” Neville asked.

“Daddy and I found them!” she gushed. “But it was mating season, and they were extremely territorial. One of them bashed me across my forehead with her hoof.” She pulled back a strand of her blonde hair to show them a rather fresh scar.

“Ouch, that’s rough,” Harry said.

“It was my fault, though,” Luna said brightly. “I should have known better than to interrupt two females in the middle of passionate nasal sex.”

There was another awkward silence, which Ron punctuated just enough to half-mouth, half-whisper, “Passionate nasal sex?”

Luna opened her mouth to explain exactly how the Crumple-Horned Snorcack had nasal sex, but Hermione waved her arms in a panic and said quickly, “Let’s move on! Look, there’s not much we can do now except go to the party and keep an eye on Malfoy. Let’s just hope this doesn’t get out of hand.”

And with that, they adjourned the meeting. But before they left, Ginny reached into her bag and pulled out the book she was reading before. “Sorry I mucked things up,” she said to Hermione, handing the book over to the bushy-haired girl.

And Hermione couldn’t stay mad any longer, not when the peace offering was a new book. She let loose a special smile for Ginny, and she slipped the book lovingly into her bag.

 

*****

 

Tuesday rolled around, and Harry still hadn’t managed to run into Draco. He was pretty sure the Slytherin was avoiding him, though during meals he often caught the blonde-haired boy sneaking glances at him. _Maybe he wants me_ , Harry thought hopefully, _but maybe he’s afraid of making a move. I’ll have to corner him at the party and give him some encouragement._

Despite his optimism, the walk to the Astronomy Tower study lounge on Tuesday evening was nerve-wracking. Luna, Ginny, and Neville accompanied him (Ron and Hermione were running a bit behind after a snog session went overtime), and they took turns giving him words of encouragement.

“You’re brave, Harry,” Neville said with. “You’ve faced down Voldemort—Malfoy’s gonna be a piece of cake.”

“I’ve never had to seduce Voldemort, though,” Harry pointed out.

“I have a feeling you will succeed, Harry,” Luna said. “You’re too hot not to.”

Harry tried his hardest to believe this. He took a deep breath and puffed out his chest, and then they entered the study lounge.

They were ten minutes early, and yet already two-dozen students were milling around the room, talking casually or picking at refreshments. Three more students entered right after Harry and his group.

Draco (or rather, his house-elf helpers) had made even more of an effort to decorate the room. There were twice as many multicolored lights as before, and multiple rainbow-colored flags hung from each wall. The refreshments table was larger and even nicer than before, with an assortment of gourmet finger foods and non-alcoholic beverages that refilled themselves whenever they got too low.

Harry stood with his friends and watched as the room filled up. Though Ron and Hermione arrived just two minutes later, by the time they got there the room was already reaching its capacity. Ron didn’t care, though, once he spotted the refreshments. “That looks wicked good!” he said breathlessly as he elbowed his way through a group of Hufflepuffs.

“There’s a lot more people here this time around,” Neville observed. “I wonder how many of them are gay?”

“I guess Hogwarts has a lot of straight allies,” Luna said brightly.

“Hogwarts has a lot of students who want to go to a party,” Hermione corrected her.

Whether Luna or Hermione was correct (though Harry suspected, as usual, that it was Hermione), the room sure did fill up in the next ten minutes, and by five minutes after 7:00, the lounge was packed to twice its capacity. It was already getting a little stuffy.

Draco pushed his way to the center of the room, and this time he actually did need to be a Sonorus charm on his voice to make himself heard. “WELCOME, EVERYONE!”

Once everyone fell quiet, Draco took the charm off and continued speaking. “Welcome to the second meeting of the Hogwarts Gay Straight Alliance. I’m glad to see so many of you here.”

The students shuffled around a little nervously, looking frequently at the refreshments table and not as much at Draco.

“I started this club so that we could come to appreciate the rich culture and history behind LGBT Wizardry…”

And he kept talking. Hermione listened raptly, and Harry paid attention, too, though he kept getting distracted by the movement of Draco’s lips. The students from the first meeting also listened as Draco started a quick lesson about gay wizarding spells and potions.

But many others, particularly the ones that weren’t able to find seating, shifted themselves step by step towards the refreshments, trying to be polite and subtle, but managing to be neither. Ron, noticing these infringers, took this as an invitation to join them, and he was far less discreet in loading up another plate and filling his goblet again.

When Ron came back to Harry, it actually turned out he was balancing three goblets in one arm. He handed one to Harry and one to Hermione. Hermione was too engrossed in Draco’s lesson to take a drink, but Harry and Ron started sipping.

It was a cool, tall kiwi spritzer, tinted a pleasantly light green. But when Harry swallowed, it burned going down. He coughed loudly, and Hermione glared at him.

“What is it, Harry?” Neville whispered. “Are you okay?”

“This drink…” Harry coughed.

Neville reached over and took a sip. When he swallowed, he didn’t cough like Harry, but he rolled his eyes all the way around. “That’s strong!” he whispered.

“What do you mean?” Harry whispered back.

“Ogden’s Firewhiskey, I think,” Neville clarified.

“Nah, the drink’s too clear for that,” Ron whispered. “It’s probably Ogden’s Firevodka.”

Ginny and Luna joined the conversation, and Ron and Harry handed them their glasses so they could try, too.

“It’s not Ogden’s,” Luna said slowly. “It doesn’t burn quite like Ogden’s.”

“Rosmerta’s Juniper Gin,” Ginny said with complete assurance.

“How do you know that?” Ron whispered.

Ginny pointed to the refreshments table. A Slytherin 7th-year stood right next to the punch bowls, and every time they magically refilled, he tipped a bottle of gin over them. He was being subtle about it, but not subtle enough for Ginny.

“That’s a very liberal pour,” Neville said.

“Clearly,” Harry said. “I can taste it!” He took a much smaller sip this time, trying to appreciate the heat the gin left in his core as it went down. It was his first time drinking—other than Butterbeer, which was very low in alcoholic content—so he wasn’t used to it.

“Ssssshhhh!” Hermione whipped around and jabbed a finger to her lip. “Pay attention!”

And she turned back towards Malfoy, took a sip of her drink, and promptly spat it out, spraying Hannah Abbot in front of her. Hannah flinched and whipped around, glaring at Hermione.

“Sorry!” Hermione whispered. She turned to her friends and hissed, “Someone spiked the drinks!”

“Pay attention yourself,” Ginny said. “We were just talking about this.”

Hermione humphed a little bit and glared over at the refreshment table. She parted her lips, and Harry was sure she was going to go off on a tangent, but instead she lifted her drink and took another sip,

“That’s a high-quality gin drink,” she whispered. And then she turned back and paid attention to Draco again.

But Draco realized he was losing the rest of his audience. Other students were whispering, and the alcohol was beginning to take effect. The whispers became louder, and the migration towards the refreshments table began to lose its subtlety. So after a mere fifteen minutes of speaking, Draco cut his lesson short, glaring at his audience.

“That concludes this meeting’s cultural appreciation of LGBT history,” he said, trying to keep the huff out of his voice. “Now let’s party!”

The effect was instantaneous. Immediately the room burst into loud chatter, and the students rushed for the drinks. Seamus Finnegan whipped a wireless radio from his schoolbag and charmed it to float up near the lights. He switched the station over to the Wizarding Wireless Network, and soon the Weird Sisters were blasting from the speakers.

Draco sighed and resigned himself to the party, going over to the table to get a drink himself.

“You cut the lesson short, Malfoy,” Hermione said as he passed her.

“Disappointed, Granger?”

“Well, yeah!” she said. “I hate to admit it, but you give good lessons on LGBT Wizardry.”

“Of course I do,” Draco said haughtily. “When I do something, I do it the best.”

Harry grinned and butted in. “Except for, you know, classwork. Hermione’s still got you there.”

Draco shot him a filthy look and pushed his way over to the refreshment table. He poured himself a limeade with soda (spiked generously with a sparkling vodka) and joined a group of Slytherins. Harry watched him go, and he most definitely noticed when Draco turned around to look at him for a lingering second.

The Weird Sisters song finished, and the radio went into ads. The students booed, and Seamus cried out, “Time for shots!”

He pulled out a large bottle of liqueur in the shape of a skull. The drink was an angry red hue with sparks of magic dancing through its body. Justin Finch-Fletchley Summoned a long row of shot glasses from his school bag and lined them up along the edge of the refreshments table. The students cheered and crowded around as Seamus magicked the drink into the shot glasses. Ron and Ginny were among the quickest to grab up a glass, and even Neville and Luna joined in.

Hermione and Harry hung back, though. “You’re not getting a shot, Hermione?” Harry asked with a wry smile.

“I prefer long drinks,” Hermione said primly.

“I didn’t know you drank at all,” Harry laughed. “I’m impressed.”

Hermione smiled, obviously pleased at confounding Harry’s expectations. “I’ll drink with my parents on occasion. Always in moderation, and always good-quality alcohol.” She tipped her kiwi spritzer at Harry. “And whoever spiked this sure had good taste.”

Harry smiled and took another sip of his drink.

“You’re not doing shots, either?” Hermione asked.

Harry shooked his head. “I’d like to, but I need to keep my focus. I’m gonna try to pull some more moves on Draco tonight.”

Hermione tilted her head and gave him a quizzical glance. Harry looked back, trying to figure what she was on about. “What is it?”

“You called him Draco.”

_Shit_ , Harry thought to himself.  _Shit shit shit._ “I—yeah. Yeah, I did. I’m trying to get close to him, so in my head I’m calling him Draco now. Malfoy sounds so impersonal.”

Hermione nodded and grinned. “Smart,” she approved.

And Harry hoped he’d satisfied her with that explanation. Truth was, he  _really_ wanted to succeed in seducing Draco, and it was more than just their plot. To fuck Draco Malfoy was more than a duty: it would be his pleasure.

He looked over at the blonde Slytherin and noticed that Draco wasn’t taking shots, either. He simply watched the party and sipped on his limeade. Harry watched him intensely, trying to work up the nerve to approach him.

So he jumped in fright when Hermione elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Harry,” she hissed. “Listen.” She motioned up at the suspended wireless, which was still playing ads.

So Harry strained his ears to hear through the sounds of the cheering students, and when he focused he could make it out:

“I am proud of my heritage,” said a silky-sweet lady on the radio. “My father was a potions master, as was his father, as was our family for generations. We work hard, and I will teach my kids to do the same. I am a proud potions master, and I am a Pureblood.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione. “The ads are on the radio now,” he sighed.

Hermione cast the radio a worried glance, then looked back at Harry. “I’m concerned, Harry. I don’t think Voldemort’s going to stop at neutralizing Purebloods who are on the fence.”

“Of course not,” Harry said quietly.

“We’ve got to do our part,” Hermione continued. “Harry, we can do more than merely stopping Malfoy’s plans. If we do this right, you could extract some real information from Malfoy. Maybe information about the Death Eaters, or about Voldemort’s strategy.”

She peered intensely at Harry and continued, “I never thought I’d say this, Harry, but  _please_ seduce Malfoy.  _Please_ succeed. We’re counting on you.”

Harry nodded slowly, gathering courage with each word she spoke, and as she finished, he walked away from her without a word. He skirted around the crowd and went to the edge of the room, where Draco was watching the proceedings.

“Hey,” Harry said, trying to quell his nerves. “You should join your own party.”

Draco, looking at the revelers and not at Harry, said, “I don’t feel like it.”

“You’re disappointed with it?”

“No, not really,” Draco said. “It’s a success. A lot of people came. It’s just… this is a Gay Straight Alliance, not a party club. The point is to learn about LGBT wizarding culture and have a safe space for LGBT wizards to gather and make friends. Nobody’s going to come out of the closet at a party like this.”

Harry’s lip quivered as he watched the partiers line up another row of shots. “If they get drunk enough, maybe they will,” he said. He took a single step towards Draco, wondering if the boy would move away. But Draco stayed put, still looking at the other students but clearly leaning an ear towards Harry.

After another round of shots, the partiers cleared off the refreshments table, and Seamus and Dean set up a game of Quidditch pong, which was of course heavily influenced by the Muggle game of beer pong. They used shot glasses full of Firewhiskey, however, and instead of ping-pong balls they used figurines of Quidditch players, which they sent flying across the table with jabs of their wands. A gold thimble with wings and a teaspoonful of the sparking red liqueur flew around table at a madcap pace. If the Quidditch figurine hit it, it would automatically end the game and give the player extra points, just like with a golden snitch.

Harry was just about to open his mouth and say something else when Terry Boot stumbled into them. He had already taken two shots of Seamus’s liqueur, and he was now on his second gin-infused spritzer.

“Hiya, Malfoy,” he slurred, reaching up a hand to tousle his brown hair.

“Hey, Boot,” Draco said, smiling at the drunk boy despite himself. “Enjoying the party?”

“Yeah,” Terry said. “Yeah, I am.” He took much too large a gulp of his drink and sighed.

“What is it, Terry?” Harry asked.

“I wanna…” the boy said. “I wanna… I think I wanna… make out with someone.”

Harry chuckled. “Then go for it. Who do you want to make out with?”

“Some people,” Terry said evasively. “I dunno, just someone cute.”

“What’s your type?” Harry prompted him. “What type of girl are you looking for?”

Terry looked to his right, then to his left, then behind him. Then he took two steps forward and pulled the boys really close to him, his lips just inches from their ears. “It’s like this,” he whispered. “I… I sorta wasn’t telling the truth at the first meeting. Can you keep a secret?”

“Yes,” Harry said seriously.

“Yes,” Draco said, his eyes dancing with excitement. It was clear he loved hearing other people’s secrets, though much less clear if his  _yes_ was sincere.

“I…” Terry whispered, “I’ve never told anyone this before, but I figured I could tell you, Malfoy, since you started the club. And you, Harry, because you came to the first meeting and seem like a good guy. But I… I don’t think I wanna make out with a girl tonight. I don’t think I want to do that any night.” He leaned even closer to them. “I think I’m gay.”

Draco nodded and pulled away just a little so that he wasn’t directly in the line of Terry’s alcohol breath. “Then make out with a boy,” he said.

“Thank you for telling us,” Harry said, trying to be more sensitive than the Slytherin. “It means a lot that you trust us.”

“But I don’t know who’s gay here!” Terry lamented. “A lot of guys are just here for the party. And… well, I’m afraid of everyone seeing.”

Harry shifted awkwardly on his feet. “I’m not sure what to say,” he said. “I don’t know who’s into guys here, either.” Well, besides himself. But he didn’t want Terry, as adorable as he was—he wanted Draco Malfoy.

“Will you let me know if anyone else tells you?” Terry begged.

“If they  _let_ me tell you,” Harry said slowly. “They might want my confidence, too.”

“I just really want to make out with a boy, for once in my life!” Terry said sadly.

Draco patted the Ravenclaw boy on the shoulder. “What you need, Terry,” he said solemnly, “is another drink. A bit more liquid courage. See where it gets you.”

Terry nodded slowly. “Yeah… Yeah, Malfoy, you’re probably right.”

And he slammed the rest of his spritzer and wandered back over to the refreshment table to follow Draco’s advice.

Harry turned to Draco and said, “That probably isn’t the best idea.”

Draco shrugged. “Better than what you said.  _I don’t know?_ What kind of advice is that? Anyway, it got him out of my face. He’s really drunk—I’ve been bracing myself for his advances all night—I’m surprised he didn’t try anything.”

“Well damn, you have a high opinion of your—wait, how did you know he was gay?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged again. “I’m discerning, Potter,” he said, “something I don’t expect you to understand.”

Harry bristled. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

But before Draco could answer, a huge cheer rang out from the students. Seamus and Dean had won the first game of Quidditch pong against Ernie MacMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley. The chatter in the room went up as the students set up a second game and refilled their glasses.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” Draco said firmly. Harry nodded in agreement, and the two of them slipped out of the room.

They took the flight of stairs up to the top of the Astronomy Tower, and they stepped out onto the balcony. It was unseasonably warm—summer’s last gasp before autumn set in—and there was not a cloud in the sky.

“So what do you mean, you’re good at discerning people?” Harry pressed. “Do you have good gaydar or something?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Ugh, Harry, don’t be so crass.  _Gaydar?_ I just read people well—that’s all.”

“So read me,” Harry challenged him.

The Slytherin boy barked with laughter and said, “Well, I discern that’s you’re shit at discerning people.”

“Be serious!” Harry insisted. “Tell me what I’m thinking.”

Draco leaned back on the balcony and looked Harry up and down, allowing his gaze to settle directly on Harry’s green eyes. “You’re thinking that you’re also surprised Terry didn’t try to make a move on me, too.”

Harry was honestly impressed, and he hated that Draco was impressing him. That  _was_ what he had been thinking, but he didn’t like that Draco was right. The insufferable git looked so goddamn cute leaning against the balcony, his pale skin lit up in the moonlight and his robes open to expose his angular form. Harry opened his mouth, trying to think of a witty retort. When he didn’t think of any, he closed his mouth again.

Draco slipped off his robe and turned away from Harry, leaning against the balcony so his butt protruded ever so slightly. Harry almost groaned out loud. It took every ounce of willpower not to grab the Slytherin boy from behind and grind himself against him.

“I’m cute, I know it,” Draco said casually. “People look at me and desire me.”

“They desire you for your money, maybe,” Harry said.

Draco turned around, amused. “You think so? If you were gay, Harry, would you desire me for my money?”

“No,” Harry said. “Money doesn’t matter to me.”

Draco nodded. “But if you were gay, would you desire me for my looks? Be honest, now.”

Harry looked Draco up and down, flexing his errant fingers in an effort to calm them down and keep them from wandering over to Draco’s waist. “I… I don’t think about you like that,” he managed to say.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Use you goddamn imagination, Potter! Think about if you were gay. Now look at me and tell me you wouldn’t want to grab me around my waist, bend me over a table, and fuck me.”

Harry sighed. “If I were gay, yeah,” he relented.

Draco raised his eyebrows, impressed that Harry had actually said it.

“What?” Harry said defensively. “I’m a Gryffindor—I’m noble to a fault. I tell the truth.  _If_ I were gay, I could imagine finding you physically attractive. You still have a shit personality, though.”

Draco laughed softly and took a step away from the balcony. A step towards Harry. “You, too, you sanctimonious twat.”

“Terry’s not bad-looking as blokes go,” Harry said, “but I don’t imagine him with you.”

“What  _do_ you imagine?” Draco pressed, taking another step towards Harry.

Harry turned his eyes away from Draco. “What do you mean?” he said evasively.

Draco stepped towards Harry, slowly closing the gap between them. “Look at me… Harry. Gryffindors are honest. Gryffindors are  _brave_ . Are you a Gryffindor?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, I am.” And then, very bravely and very stupidly, he closed the gap the rest of the way, his body no longer in control of his mind. And he kissed Draco.

It was an explosion of senses for Harry. First was the satisfaction of finally,  _finally_ kissing Draco Malfoy—the sudden release of all the adrenaline he’d built up over the past week as he planned out his seduction plot. Then there was the taste of Draco’s lips and mouth—so sweet and clean and tinged with the fruity flavor of his drink. And then there was the feeling of Draco’s body in his arms as Harry grabbed the svelte little Slytherin around the middle, running his hands up to the boy’s shoulders.

He fully expected Draco to pull away, but to his surprise, the Slytherin returned the kiss. He let Harry lead, both in intensity and in movement, but his response was more than mere reaction. His fingers bunched at Harry’s robes, trying to feel the Gryffindor’s muscular figure through the fabric. His tongue flicked forward in his mouth to find Harry’s. The Gryffindor boy moaned and pulled Draco’s body against his.

They made out for maybe a minute or two. To Harry, it both felt like an age and like it was over in a flash. But then they heard a pounding of footsteps beneath them, and they broke apart just in time for Seamus to come stumbling past them and up to the balcony, where he promptly threw up. The vomit was a deep purple, and the magical sparks from his liqueur danced in the moonlight on the way to the ground.

Seamus looked up, wiping a chunk away from the corner of his lips with his sleeve. “Awesome party, Malfoy!” he said. He put a finger to the side of his nose and blew a particularly sparkly chunk out into the night. Draco screwed up his face in revulsion. “Ahhh, that’s so much better! Time to go back and do another round of shots!”

And he rushed down the stairs again, leaving Harry and Draco alone.

Harry pulled Malfoy close again, meaning to go in for another kiss, but this time Malfoy did resist. He let Harry hold him around the middle, but he turned his lips away. Grinning at Harry, he said, “I should check on my party.”

Then he pecked Harry on the cheek, slipped out from his grasp, and skipped down the stairs again.

Harry let out a long, loud sigh as he watched the blonde-haired boy disappear. His head was still reeling, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. He was still relatively sober, though that one drink had been pretty strong. But his heart was still racing, and all his blood had gone south.

He had just kissed Draco Malfoy. He had just kissed Draco Malfoy! He didn’t even think he’d manage that tonight, but he had! And Draco had kissed back.

Luna was right—Draco  _was_ gay. And now Harry had a clear chance of seducing him.

And, oh holy sweet Merlin, did Harry want to seduce Draco! He wanted another kiss—no, a thousand more kisses! And then beyond that. He wanted to do everything that he could possibly do to tease and please the Slytherin before he fucked him.

Harry groaned again and tried to arrange his robes to hide his throbbing erection. He did a very poor job of it. So he stumbled down the stairs to find a bathroom so he could piss it away before rejoining the party.

When he did get back to the party, Draco was nowhere to be seen. Once Harry realized this, he strode promptly over to the refreshment table and took a shot of Seamus’s liqueur. It burned and sparked on the way down his throat. It felt like a fistful of pop rocks and tasted like a generous dash of jalapeno pepper mixed with the sugars from a thousand distilled cherries. He screwed up his face and shook his whole body. Then he poured himself another shot and downed it, too. Finally he refilled his goblet with another kiwi spritzer and took a step back to survey the party.

In his absence, everyone had gotten involved in something. Hermione had poured herself another drink and was talking to Hannah Abbot, who seemed to have gotten over being spat on earlier. Neville and Ron were playing a game of Quidditch pong against two fifth-year Hufflepuffs.

And Luna and Ginny were involved in a lascivious game that a bunch of seventh-year Slytherins had set up. Harry watched, bemused, as seven students sat down on seven seats, their backs to the wall and their mouths open wide. Ginny was amongst them, her head tilted back and her breasts thrust forward. Then one of the Slytherins (incidentally, the one who spiked the drinks at the beginning) poured a generous helping of Sweet Strawberry Dragon Rum into their mouths. Then seven more students, a mix of boys and girls, stepped forward to lock lips with the sitting partiers, making out and exchanging the liquor at the same time.

Everyone was very drunk, and Harry was extremely amused to see that Luna was especially wasted. Even more amusing was when she was the partner to lean down over Ginny and draw her into a kiss. Harry chuckled at the spectacle. He raised his eyebrows, though, when the other couples slowly broke apart, yet Luna continued moving her mouth against Ginny’s. They lasted a full fifteen seconds longer than everyone else before Ginny broke it off, swallowing most of the liquor and leaving the rest to dribble down Luna’s chin. Everyone surrounding them cheered, and then they shuffled around to let a new row of students sit in the chairs.

Luna stumbled over to Harry and threw her arms around his shoulders. “This—” she mumbled— “This party…  _susshhh_ a good idea!”

Ginny joined them. “See, I  _knew_ Malfoy was right to follow my advice!”

“Yesssssshh, he was,” Luna agreed, taking one arm off Harry to throw around Ginny’s shoulders. “You’re… Ginny? You’re  _so_ smart!”

Ginny giggled. “I know!” she said.

“Oh look!” Luna said suddenly, pointing across the room. Right next to the alcove, half-hidden by its curtains, an extremely inebriated Terry Boot was making out with Colin Creevey.

“He found someone,” Harry said with a grin.

“I told you,” Luna slurred smugly, “ _told_ you he wassh gay.”

“It sure seems so,” Ginny said with a grin.

“Harry?” Luna said. “Harry? Is that what you… is that what you and Draco did? Did you and Draco snog at the top of the Astronomy Tower? Did you… did you get to feel his winky?”

Harry grinned widely. “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he said, “when you all can remember what I’m saying!”

And so the party continued, but not fifteen minutes later Morag MacDougal came rushing back from the bathroom, yelling, “Filch is coming! Filch is just a few floors down, and Mrs. Norris is with him!”

And so, in a drunken rush, the student fled from the room, some of them pausing to throw up on their way out. Harry took one last shot of Firewhiskey and ran out of the lounge hand-in-hand with Luna and Ginny. They could already hear Filch yelling at some of the students a few floors down, so they jammed themselves into a broom closet, giggling and squealing and waiting for Filch’s screeches to go somewhere else.

They stopped giggling, however, when vomit exploded from Luna’s mouth and nose, showering all of them. Ginny squeaked and followed suit, raining chunks down Harry’s shoulders. Some of it splashed up directly into his open mouth, and the acidic taste was enough to trigger Harry as well. He threw up on both his friends. Being the tallest, most of it got in their long hair. All three of them wept drunkenly and heaved up a few more throatfuls of vomit onto each other, clawing at each other’s robes and tangling themselves in the mops and buckets.

And then the door burst open. They all started sobbing, convinced it was Filch. Ginny actually started begging, “P-please, F-Filch, p-please don’t give us detention!”

But it was just Hermione. They tumbled at her feet, flopping in their own vomit like beached fish. Harry curled up and rolled over, leaving a little vomit fetus in his wake. Ginny moaned and wriggled on the floor, her brilliant red hair matted with slime and sparkling bits of puke. Luna, meanwhile, gazed mournfully at a particularly large chunk and then, like a sick puppy, leaned forward to nibble at it.

“For heaven’s sakes!” Hermione sighed.  _“Evanesco!”_

The vomit vanished, along with everyone’s tears, but Harry, Luna, and Ginny still whimpered as they shakily got to their feet.

“Filch is gone now,” Hermione assured them. “He ran off after some of the second-years towards the Charms corridor. Now let’s get back to our common room!”

So they stumbled after Hermione, feeling a little less drunk than before but no less shell-shocked. The bushy-haired girl turned around and shook her head at her friends. “You all are a mess,” she sighed. “Harry, you’ll have to update us in the morning.”

“Or the afternoon,” he said weakly. “Or the evening. We need to sleep this off.”

 

\----------

**A/N:** A big thank you to everyone who’s been reading so far! Don’t forget to leave a review.


	5. It's a Penis, Not a Dementor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the party, Harry reports back to his hungover friends. Harry also decide that, if he's going to seduce Draco, he'd better get some proper sex education from Madame Pomfrey.

**CHAPTER FIVE: It’s a Penis, Not a Dementor**

Dawn broke on Wednesday to a very sleepy castle. Nobody who went to the party last night was in any hurry to get out of bed, on time or otherwise. In the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, dozens of alarm clocks went off, only to be snoozed, only to go off again. Not even Harry, who normally woke up sinfully early, could bring himself emerge from his fluffy duvet.

In the Fifth Year’s dormitory, Colin Creevey groaned and reached out his hand through the curtain around his bed to snooze his alarm clock yet again. Then he rolled over into someone else’s arms and snuggled into their chest.

Colin blinked and leaned back a little, surprised to find another person in his bed. He’d never had someone stay the night with him before. And to be honest, he didn’t remember anything that happened after Quidditch pong. It was probably too much to hope that he’d gone home with his secret crush, but he hoped he at least didn’t go to sleep with some utter dog.

To his surprise and delight, it  _was_ his secret crush in bed next to him! They’d both made it down to their underwear and were tangled around each other, their hands running along each other’s backs.

“Terry Boot?” Colin whispered, shaking the boy’s shoulder. The Ravenclaw mumbled and pulled Colin closer to him. “Is that really you?”

Terry smiled, only half awake. “Mmhmmm.”

“Terry… do you remember last night?”

The Ravenclaw’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and he shook his head, still with a sleepy grin. “Mmm-mm.”

“Me neither,” Colin whispered, pulling Terry’s chest closer to his cheek. “Wanna start over again, make some real memories?”

“Mmmmmmm.” Terry made a move as if to sit up in bed, but then he winced. “Ooooo, I’m hungover.” He put a careful hand to his forehead.

Colin nodded slowly. “Ugh, me too… Cuddle a bit?” And he gingerly brought the boy into his arms, wishing they were both less hungover and more able to make out.

At that moment, a head peeked through Colin’s bed curtains, and Neville appeared, saying, “Hangover cure, Colin?”

“Eeep!” Terry squealed, diving under the covers.

“Oh, sorry!” Neville said quickly, pulling his head out of the curtain. “Didn’t realize you had a visitor… I’ll just—”

“Wait!” Colin said, jumping up and sticking his head through the curtains. “Hangover cure, you said?”

“Yeah,” Neville said cheerfully, waving a glass jar in his face. It was full of little herbal globes, no bigger than chocolate truffles. “I gathered these just now from the greenhouses. It’s an amalgamation of finely ground leaping toadstools, skin of shrivelfig, and just a touch of Mandrake root. Cures even the worst hangovers in under ninety seconds!”

“Wicked!” Colin breathed, reaching out for the jar.

Neville yanked it away, though. “Five galleons apiece!” he said.

“Take it, it’s on my nightstand,” Colin said breathlessly. So Neville helped himself to 10 galleons, then handed Colin 2 of the herbal balls.

“It works best if you insert it anally,” Neville said. And Colin had his hand halfway down his underwear when Neville waved his arms and cried, “No, no! I was just kidding! Just swallow it whole!”

Colin blushed and did as instructed. “Thanks, Neville,” he said. He retreated behind his curtains to give the second globe to Terry. “Here, swallow this.”

Terry took the herbal cure and swallowed it in one gulp, and then the two of them waited as they listened to Neville peddling his cure to the rest of their dormmates. They noticed the effects immediately—their headaches receded, the cottony feeling in their mouths gave way to real moisture, and light no longer hurt their eyes. Within 90 seconds, as Neville promised, they felt good as new.

“It’s like I didn’t even drink last night!” Terry breathed, awed.

“I feel completely better!” Colin agreed.

They paused and looked each other right in the eye, and then they both grinned mischievously. Terry acted first, grabbing Colin by the neck and drawing him in for a fervent kiss.

The Gryffindor boys may have gotten a hangover cure, but Terry and Colin didn’t make it to class all morning.

 

*****

 

Draco was one of the few partiers to get up at his usual time (which, granted, was still only 15 minutes before 8:00). He’d remained mostly sober while luring Harry into a kiss, and after he left the Astronomy Tower, he went straight back to his dorm. So when he woke up in the morning, he needed no hangover cure. Instead, he sat up in bed, snuggled his bedsheets against his smooth, naked body, and smiled up at his canopy curtains.

He’d really outdone himself last night. Hogwart’s Gay Straight Alliance was now a legitimate success. Sure, he wasn’t going to throw a party again for a while, but the club now had some visibility, and he’d certainly get better showings than the first week. He hated to admit that Ginny was right, but… Ginny was right!

Fuck that, though. Sure, he cared about making a good club, but he’d landed a bigger fish: Harry Potter.

_I kissed Harry Potter_ , he mouthed at his bed curtains.  _I kissed Harry Potter_ . It was easier than he’d imagined it’d be. Draco hadn’t even needed to make the first move! Harry fell into it, and Draco was sure the Gryffindor wanted to go further. That boy was ripe for seduction, and full of secrets to spill. For the first time in his whole school career, Draco had a real chance at getting through to Harry Potter. For the first time ever, he could really be an asset to his father!

_Careful, though, Draco_ , he told himself.  _There’s just one thing that could spoil this: you_ .

He wanted Harry too bad. And that was a problem. It would take all his self-control not to fall into Harry’s arms and let the Gryffindor boy fuck him into the next millennium, but if he let that happen too soon, he’d have no control over the situation. He had to have the upper hand. Harry, blinded by lust, needed to fall for him.

Draco Summoned his outfit for the day—a pair of designer boxer briefs from Madam Malkin’s, covered up by tight black slacks and a ribbed green-and-silver sweater to go over his school shirt. Then he slipped on his robes, which were newly tailored to hug his svelte frame. He preened in front of the mirror by his dresser, poking at his hair with his wand until he got it right where he wanted it.

“You’re so hot!” the mirror breathed at him. Draco smirked and tipped his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. He was ready for the day.

 

*****

 

Thanks to Neville’s hangover cure, the Gryffindor boys managed to get to class on time. The other partygoers weren’t so lucky, and first period at Hogwarts found many of the teachers scratching their heads, wondering why so many of their students were missing. Hell, even second period wasn’t much better.

When Harry, Ron, and Neville joined up with Hermione in the Great Hall for lunch, Ginny and Luna still weren’t out of bed. Hermione frowned at the three boys as they sat down for their meal.

“You three sure are cheerful,” she said suspiciously. “Recovered pretty quickly from last night, I see.”

“I sure did!” Neville said, clinking a few of the coins he still had in his pockets.

“Neville’s got a wicked cool hangover cure!” Ron blurted out. “Worked like magic. Well… it  _was_ magic!”

Hermione sighed. “Oh Neville, you gave them a hangover cure? How will they ever learn?”

“I didn’t  _give_ them anything,” Neville said smugly. “I made a cool hundred galleons this morning. At this point, I don’t want them to learn. Hell, I’m thinking of throwing another party myself!”

Hermione shook her head and picked out a sandwich and an apple.

“So, Harry,” Ron said, “you gonna tell us about last night? Did you get any closer to seducing Malfoy?”

“I—” Harry began, but stopped. “Luna and Ginny aren’t here yet. I can’t tell you all until they come.”

“No fair!” Ron said.

“There’s Luna now, though,” Neville said, pointing at the door. And indeed, the blonde Ravenclaw was stumbling towards them, bleary-eyed and clutching at her head.

“Morning,” she said softly as she sat down beside them.

“Afternoon,” Harry corrected her with a twitch of a grin at his lips.

“Hermione, do you know a hangover cure spell?” Luna asked.

“I sure don’t,” Hermione replied, obviously lying, but clearly still clinging to the idea that the partygoers needed to learn their lesson.

Neville had no such qualms, however. Pulling out one of his globes, he said slyly, “I know something better. For five galleons.”

_“Accio coin purse,”_ Luna mumbled, and fifteen seconds later a leather pouch glided through the door, between the floating candles, and down into her hand. She counted out five galleons and gave them up to Neville, who then handed over one of the hangover globes. She swallowed it whole, and in thirty seconds she was already looking more chipper.

As Luna’s hangover receded, Ginny entered the Great Hall, too, looking even worse for the wear. Her hair wasn’t brushed, and she carried her books in her arms instead of in a school bag. Her robe wasn’t even buttoned up, and it was slipping off one shoulder.

“Hangover cure, Ginny?” Neville said when she joined them, not even bothering with a greeting.

“Oh sweet Merlin, please,” Ginny moaned.

“Five galleons.”

“Noooo, I don’t have five galleons! I don’t get allowance for another week!” Ginny whimpered and buried her head in her arms, trying to block out the sunlight.

Luna motioned at Neville and silently handed over five more galleons from her coin purse. Neville nodded in return and gently pried open Ginny’s hand to place one of his hangover balls in her palm.

“This one’s on me,” he said softly.

“Oh…” Ginny said, looking up. “Oh, no… Oh no, I couldn’t.”

“Hey, hey,” Neville chided her, “it’s just a temporary loan. I’ll call in a favor later!”

Ginny sighed and took the globe, swallowing it whole. She gagged a little and reached for a water glass to wash it down.

“No,” Neville said, stopping her before the glass reached her lips. “Let the herbs do their work.”

So Ginny sat mutely as the hangover cure took effect, her demeanor brightening and her head rising with each passing second. “Damn,” she breathed after a minute. “Holy shit, Neville, you’re a genius!”

“I sure am,” Neville said smugly. “It’s not for nothing that I’m the best herbologist in the—”

“Now that Ginny’s here,” Ron interrupted breathlessly through a mouthful of bread, “Harry can update us on last night!”

Neville glared at Ron, but he also stopped talking and turned towards Harry, clearly eager to hear the report, too.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Sure. Can we go somewhere more private, though? Especially because…” He nodded towards the door, where Draco had just entered flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

The others nodded, wide-eyed, and Hermione said, “We’ll just go to the Room of Requirement, then.” She magicked a croissant into her schoolbag. The others followed suit, grabbing some food to go, and they left the Great Hall.

When they reached the Room of Requirement, it provided them with a hazy environment, rather like an underground lair, the lighting a darkish red like an exposed rectum. Harry’s heart rate increased the moment he stepped through the door.

“The fuck is this place lit like a sleazy club?” Ginny mused with raised eyebrows. The room was much smaller than normal, circular and low-ceilinged with just enough seats to fit the six of them with no discomfort.

“It looks like a place you’d go to do anal,” Luna said. She had a trail of food floating behind her, which she levitated onto the table in the middle of the room.

“Everywhere is a place to do anal, if you’re brave enough,” Neville pointed out.

“But this place especially,” Luna said persisted. “Harry, you’d fuck Draco in here, wouldn’t you?”

“Speaking of which!” Ron said excitedly. “Tell us, Harry! Tell us about last night!”

So they sat down in a circle around the table and laid their food out in front of them, and Harry told them what happened.

“I just went up to Draco and started conversation,” he began.

“Just like that?” Ron whispered in awe.

“Just like that,” Harry said, grinning. “He didn’t want to see me at first, but… well, I worked my magic. I’m charming. Terry Boot came by and interrupted for a moment, but I didn’t let that stop me. I kept Draco engaged in conversation, and when Terry left, I convinced Draco to escape the party so we could talk somewhere quieter.”

“Damn, you’re smooth!” Neville said appreciatively. “You just… convinced him to step away from his own party!”

“Yeah,” Harry boasted, puffing his chest out. He knew he was stretching the truth a little—it had been Draco’s idea to go up to the top of the tower—but he wanted to stress just how much he had taken initiative last night. “Yeah. So we went to the top of the Astronomy Tower.”

“And then what?” Ginny said, bouncing in her seat.

“We talked some more,” Harry said.

“About what?” Hermione put in.

“About.. I dunno, I forget exactly  _what_ … I was just making conversation flow. Y’know? We bantered a bit. I teased him, made him feel a little insecure…” (here Harry knew he was really tracking away from what truly happened)... “and I could just sense he was trying to get my approval. Obviously we’ve never liked each other, and I’ve never given my approval before, but I could just really sense he wanted it. We were finally having a real, civil conversation, and I knew he wished for more.”

Harry smirked. “So I kissed him.”

The five others gasped in unison. They gripped the edge of their seats, waiting for Harry to continue, and when he didn’t speak, Ginny rocked back and forth like she was going to piss herself and squealed,  _“And??”_

“And he fucking love it!” Harry said with relish.

His friends whooped and cheered for him. Ron clapped him on the back. “You did it, man! You’ve gotten to Malfoy!”

“Yeah, I have,” Harry said smugly.

“Tell us more about the kiss,” Luna said, smiling dreamily at the red lantern that hung above the table.

“I had him right where I wanted him!” Harry said. “God, you should’ve seen the way he melted into me! He wanted it so bad, and I gave it to him!”

Luna wiped a little drool from the corner of her open mouth. “That’s hot,” she said appreciatively.

“When I commit to a task, I  _commit to it!”_ Harry said firmly. “And yes, you better believe I made it hot for Draco! He actually groaned out loud when I broke away.”

Again, stretching the truth a little. Harry didn’t know why he kept on doing it, but when he boasted about it, it really helped mask just how much he’d been turned on, too. His friends needed to know that he’d captivated Draco, but they didn’t need to know how much Draco was captivating him.

“And then what?” Hermione pressed.

“I told him I needed to get back to my friends,” Harry said. “And I flashed him a grin on my way down. You know I left that sneaky little Slytherin boy wanting more!”

Hermione gave him a special smile. “Harry, I’m really impressed with you,” she said. “I didn’t know you had it in you to seduce someone.”

“What do you mean?” Harry said, a little hurt.

“Let’s face it, you did a pretty poor job keeping Cho happy,” Hermione said.

“Her ex had just died!” Harry said defensively. “It’s not exactly easy to cheer up someone whose boyfriend just snuffed it, particularly not when you were there to watch them get killed.”

“Be that at is may,” Hermione said, “I’ve rarely been impressed by the emotional intuition of either you or Ron. Good on you for finally tapping into it.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and huffed in the direction of his best friend. “You gonna stand for that, Ron?”

Ron shrugged and spread his hands apart. “It’s fucking true, mate. You know we’re both dumb about these things. Why do you think we always go to Hermione for advice?”

Harry sighed and shook his head. “ _Thank you_ , Hermione, for the back-handedest of backhanded compliments.”

She smiled primly and responded, “You’re welcome.”

Ginny once again started rocking back and forth like she needed to pee. “But how was it for  _you_ , Harry?” she said eagerly. “What was it like, forcing yourself to kiss Malfoy?”

_Amazing. Absolutely fucking amazing. My skin was tingling the whole time, and I got a massive erection. All I wanted at that moment was to yank off Draco’s robes, tear apart his shirt and pants, and drive my throbbing cock up his scrumptious little bubble butt_ . That’s all Harry could think. That’s how he really felt.

But instead he said, “Honestly? Sort of a power rush. It was weird, kissing another guy. But at the moment, I was so focused on the mission, and all I really thought about was how much control I had over him.”

“Wow,” Neville breathed.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. They were both far more impressed than Harry expected, and much less weirded out.

“You’re a braver man than I’ll ever be,” Luna agreed, blowing a wisp of hair out of her face so she could stuff a croissant in her mouth.

“You deserve another Triwizard Cup,” Ginny added, “but this time without a dead Cedric attached.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “I’m happy for you and your power rush, Harry,” she said, “and I wish you the best in your sexual machinations and manipulations, but we’ve got three minutes til class.”

“Oh shit,” Ron said, looking at his watch. “You’re right! Last time I was late for Transfiguration, McGonagall threatened to turn my homework into a spider. And I don’t want that to happen this time… especially ‘cause I think I got another O!”

And he dashed out, followed closely by Neville, who needed to get all the way out to the greenhouses for Herbology. Hermione smiled at Ron as he left, and she turned to Harry and sighed, “Ahh, he’s working so much harder on his schoolwork, now that we’re going out.”

“You got him that whipped, eh?” Harry grinned.

“Nope,” Hermione said, gathering up her bags. “I just have him… incentivized.”

They left the Room of Requirement, Harry wrinkling his nose at Hermione’s words. “Eurgh, please don’t go into more detail.”

Hermione grinned.  “I wouldn’t dream of—wait, Harry, why are you following me? Potions is the other way.”

“Oh, I’m not doing Potions this period. Dumbledore needs me for something,” Harry said quickly. “Something for training.”

 

*****

 

Meanwhile, back in the Room of Requirement, Ginny stopped Luna as they gathered up their belongings. As the others’ voices receded down the hall, Ginny said, “Hey Luna… not a big deal, but… let’s talk sorta quick about last night.”

“Okay,” Luna said, nibbling on her last croissant as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

“About the drinking game and the kissing stuff, y’know?”

“Yeah, it was fun,” Luna said. “I hope we get to play that game again at another party.”

“Yeah, about that,” Ginny said, “it was just that, Luna—a game. It was fun, and hey—you’re a good kisser. A great kisser, in fact. But I’m not, y’know…”

“Not what?” Luna said. “Surely you’re not a Crumple-Horned Snorcack, or you’d have been warming up my nose as foreplay.”

“Nonono,” Ginny said quickly, “No. I’m not… well, I’m not gay. It was a fun kiss and all, but I’m not looking for, like… a girlfriend.”

Luna cocked her head and paused for much too long an uncomfortable moment. She blinked once at Ginny, then gazed at her with her silvery saucer eyes. “I know,” she said. “I’m not gay, either. You’re a good kisser, too, though.”

Ginny laughed nervously. “Haha, thanks. Yeah, glad we got that conversation out of the way. Now let’s get to class.”

 

*****

 

Again, Harry was lying. He didn’t need to meet up with Dumbledore at all. He was straight-up skiving off Potions. He set off at a run, feeling a little bad for not telling Hermione the truth, but he didn’t need her knowing where he was going, particularly not if she told the rest of the group. They didn’t need to know that he was going to Hospital Wing.

He arrived five minutes later, a little out of breath, and he entered so suddenly that he startled Madame Pomfrey as she was cleaning out bedpans. She yelped and splattered a fine mist of diarrhea across one of the beds and down the front of her white robes.

“Harry Potter!” she huffed, waving away the mess with her wand. “Slow down, or you’ll break a bone!”

“Nothing you couldn’t fix in a jiffy,” Harry pointed out helpfully. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

The nurse pursed her lips and slid the bedpan back under the bed. “Then why  _are_ you here? You haven’t been attacked again, I hope?”

“No, nothing like that,” Harry said. 

"Bad potion? A bit of a cold? An accident in Charms class?”

“No, none of that, either. Actually, nothing’s happened.”

“Then why are you here, Master Potter?”

Harry fumbled with his fingers and said, “Well… it’s something I’m about to do.”

Madame Pomfrey strode over to Harry, knitting her brow and frowning at him. “What are you about to do?”

“I, well… I wanna…  _do_ stuff, if you know what I mean.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “No, Potter, I do  _not_ know what you mean. Please elaborate.”

“I wanna  _do stuff_ ,” Harry muttered, glancing down at his crotch. “Down there…”

Madame Pomfrey took a step back and appraised the boy, no longer either smiling or frowning. “Are you hitting on me, Potter?”

“Nononononononono!” Harry yelped, absolutely mortified. “No, never, what gave you that idea?”

And Madame Pomfrey actually laughed at him. “Calm down, I know you’re not. But seriously, my dear boy, let that be a lesson to you— _be more clear_ when you’re talking about sex! Every good sexual relationship requires open and honest communication, and you won’t get that by skirting around the issue.”

Harry blushed so hard that even his neck started turning red. Madame Pomfrey smirked at him and retreated to her office, only to come out again a minute later with an embarrassingly realistic model of a man’s loins--hips, ass, and penis, complete with body hair, veins, and silky-smooth skin. She plopped the model down on one of her infirmary carts, and she pulled out her wand.

“The first thing you must know,” she said, “is a good, strong protection spell. Muggles have these things called condoms, but they break, and they don’t even protect the skin around the penis, which is where a lot of skin-to-skin STD’s are transmitted.”

She prodded the penis with her wand, and it quickly became erect. Harry gulped and blushed. It really, really looked like the real deal. A vein throbbed along the length of the shaft. The head reddened as if it was filled with blood. A speck of precum even glimmered at the tip. He was getting a little hard just looking at it.

“Now watch me closely, Potter,” Madame Pomfrey said. She pointed the wand at the penis and murmured,  _“Phalloprotego!”_ The penis glowed with a sick, milky white light, and then it faded back to its normal color. “It’s very simple, see? Just one single spell, and you’re protecting yourself from STD’s  _and_ unplanned pregnancy. Pretty neat, right?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Y-yeah. Neat.”

“Great. Now you try it.”

“Oh no!” Harry said quickly, “No, I think I got it.”

“Harry Potter, I am not letting you out of this hospital wing until you can perform the spell properly!” Madame Pomfrey barked. “This is non-negotiable! If you don’t get the spell right, you entire shaft could end up chancerous with syphillis. Or your pee could burn because of gonorrhea. Or you could end up having a little baby witch or wizard well before you’re able to take care of it.”

Harry blushed and pulled out his wand. Madame Pomfrey canceled the spell, and she inched the cart over to Harry. He gulped as he stared the erection directly in its eye-like urethra. Summoning up his magic and concentrating on protecting the flamboyantly red penis that stood proudly before him, he cried,  _“PHALLOPROTEGO!”_

It worked. The penis glowed fiercely for a full fifteen seconds before fading back to its normal color.

“Good job, Potter!” Madame Pomfrey praised him. “First try and everything! But I must inform you that this spell need  _not_ be yelled. It’s a penis, not a dementor. And I can tell you from experience that it’s quite a turnoff when your partner screams the protection spell for the whole dormitory to hear.”

Harry blushed from the praise, but mostly he blushed from embarrassment. Madame Pomfrey made him try the spell three more times before she was satisfied he had it down. He sighed with relief, and he was about to put his wand away and leave when the nurse stopped him.

“Harry, that’s only half of the process!” she said.

“Wh—what?” he stammered. “I only have one penis.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Master Potter. You must also know how to protect your partner.”

“Why?” Harry said. “They can do that part.”

“And that’s  _precisely_ the wrong way to think about sex!” Madame Pomfrey said. She ran to her office to get another model, talking as she went. “Protecting your partner is the least you can do when you make love. Not to mention it adds an extra layer of protection for yourself. What if your partner doesn’t know her spell? What if she has dragon herpes, and her vaginal juices drip down your thigh and onto an unprotected portion of your leg?”

She came back and plopped another hyperrealistic model down on the cart, this time fashioned after a woman.

Harry’s eyes bugged out. “There’s—there’s such a thing as  _dragon herpes_ ?” he whimpered. “Madame Pomfrey, I think maybe I won’t have sex after all.”

“Oh yes you will!” Madame Pomfrey said sharply. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have come to me. Now let’s practice the spell on this model vagina.”

She poked the clitoris with her wand, and immediately it became aroused. The vagina lips filled with blood and became plump and moist. The clitoris quivered as it engorged. The lips even pulsed a little bit, parting for just enough of a flash that Harry could see the vagina itself expanding, as if begging for the penis model to enter it. Harry had never seen a vagina become aroused so quickly; it was even more unnerving than the instantly erect penis.

“Now watch,” Madame Pomfrey instructed. She raised her wand, ready to cast another spell, but Harry stopped her.

“Wait, Madame Pomfrey! I—I’m not trying to… Let’s not…”

“Let’s not  _what_ , Master Potter? I already told you how important it is to protect your partner!”

“I, uh…” Harry blushed so hard he thought even his eyes would burn. He sure felt like crying, at least, so embarrassed was he. “I, uh… I only want to do anal.”

Madame Pomfrey smirked yet again. She flipped the female model around, exposing its pink, puckered anus. “Of course.”

She didn’t bother to cancel the vagina’s arousal, and Harry whimpered as he watched a rivulet of juice weep down the taint to moisten the butthole. “The holes are  _so close_ ,” he bleated, so taken aback that he actually said it out loud.

Madame Pomfrey had to restrain herself to hold back a laugh. She lifted her wand and pointed it at the rosy pink asshole.  _“Culoprotego!”_ she murmured. “See? It’s the same spell as the one to protect your penis, but with a different prefix.”

Harry didn’t even wait for her prompting. “ _Finite Incantatem,”_ he said, canceling Madame Pomfrey’s spell. “ _Culoprotego_ .” He wanted this over with as quickly as possible.

“Good job,” Madame Pomfrey said. “Now again.”

And Harry did it three more times before Madame Pomfrey pronounced him ready. “You’re a fast learner,” she said approvingly. “So now that we have these models out, do you want me to show you anything else? Anal sex can be difficult the first few times. Every time someone comes to me to ask about it, I tell them this:  _It is not a rookie hole_ . The anal membrane is very thin, and it’s easy to tear. Even with the protective spells, it just plain doesn’t feel good when you do anal sex wrong.”

“Madame Pomfrey!” Harry said quickly. “Thank you, but I think I’ll find out the rest at the library.”

She shrugged. “If you say so. I just ask that you make sure all your sexually active friends are using these protection spells. They’re easy to learn, and they’re as close to 100% effective as it is statistically possible to get.”

And she got up to put the models away. Harry let out a shuddering sigh as he looked down at the infirmary tray, which was still wet with the models’ juices.

Madame Pomfrey returned. “Any more questions before you go, Potter?”

“Yeah, actually,” he said on a whim. “Um… do you have a model so we can practice just in case I, uh… just in case I.... That is to say, do you have a house elf version of the model?”

“HARRY JAMES POTTER!” Madame Pomfrey shrieked, absolutely horrified. “You most certainly must _NOT_ go around having sex with house elves!”

And then she realized it was Harry’s turn to be laughing at her. He was clutching his sides and chortling. He had been joking. “That’s  _not_ funny!” she snapped at him.

“Maybe not,” Harry giggled, “but I refuse to be the only one who’s mortified by this lesson. Thanks, though! I’ll use the spells.”

And he left the Hospital Wing with one purpose: to find Draco.

Running down the halls, he pulled the Marauder’s Map out of his schoolbag and checked frantically for Draco. After a couple quick sweeps, he spotted the Slytherin’s green ink dot milling around in a study room not far from the One-Eyed Witch Passage.

Grinning excitedly, he took corridors at a sprint and the staircases four steps at a time, only just remembering to slowly down and control his breathing when he was no more than two hallways down from Draco. He wiped a bead of sweat away from his scar, smoothed his robes against his muscled body, and tousled his hair so it looked casually windswept.

And then he rounded the corner and almost ran straight into Draco. “Oh hi, Draco!” Harry said, trying to sound cool and aloof but unable to keep a cheery tone out of his voice.

Draco rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. “Sweet Merlin, Harry, your hair did  _not_ get like that naturally! You can’t be windswept indoors!”

Harry’s hands flew self-consciously to his head, and he cursed himself when he realized it was too late to stop the movement. “You don’t like it?” he said.  _Goddamnit, Harry Fucking Potter, stop sounding hurt!_ he swore at himself.

“I didn’t say  _that_ ,” Draco smirked. “I just said it wasn’t natural.”

Harry sulked, realizing that Draco had the upper hand in the conversation now. He’d have to try to get it back.

Draco reached up and pushed his fingers through the edge of Harry’s hairline. “Besides, if you  _need_ your hair tousled up all the time, why go through all the effort to do it yourself?”

“Huh?”

Draco ran his fingers a little farther into Harry’s hair. “Better to have someone else do it for you.”

He stepped closer, their toes touching and their robes rustling together and their faces just inches apart. Harry parted his lips, readying his watering mouth for another kiss. But Draco gave Harry’s hair a sharp tug and stepped back.

“I know honesty is what you Gryffindors do,” Draco said, “but let me give it a try. I enjoyed last night. I want to try it again. But I’m not a notch in your belt, Harry. I’m not an easy hole for you to plunder.”

“I never said you were,” Harry said, surprised to find a streak of gentleness softening the defensive edge in his voice. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

Draco crossed his arms. “I’m sure you don’t see yourself as that kind of guy, Harry, but please… You’re famous. You’re rich. You get what you want. But I don’t trust you yet, because I don’t  _know_ you.”

Draco’s words stung Harry a little. He  _didn’t_ get what he wanted. If Harry got what he wanted, his parents would still be alive. He’d’ve never had to watch Cedric or Sirius die in front of him. He’d be able to focus on his NEWT’s instead of on defeating Voldemort.  _Pretty fuckin’ basic things to wish for_ , Harry thought bitterly,  _having parents still, and not having to kill and watch others be killed._

But he didn’t say that because he wasn’t a whiny bitch. Instead, he reached out and took Draco by the wrist, grasping firmly but not wrenching at him. “Then get to know me,” he said sincerely.

Draco gently tugged his wrist away. “I’m supposed to be in Potions right now,” he said softly.

“Me too,” Harry said. “But I’m not. I’m here, with you.”

Draco sighed and cast his gaze around. “Pretty awkward place we’re at, though. I don’t feel like having a conversation in a corridor.”

“Then let’s have one at the Three Broomsticks,” Harry said.

Draco shook his head. “Filch knows all the secret passages out of the castle.”

Harry shook his head right back. “No,” he said, “Not all of them. Follow me.”


	6. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes Draco to Hogsmeade so they can get to know each other better. Some intimate details are shared.

**CHAPTER SIX: Secrets**

Harry took Draco by the hand, cupping their fingers but not intertwining them. The Slytherin reluctantly held on, eventually allowing himself to relax and grip Harry back. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“To Hogsmeade,” Harry said, leading him along at a brisk pace.

“I know that, you silly Gryffindor,” Draco sighed. “But how are we getting there?”

“Just trust me.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “I just told you I didn’t,” he scoffed.

“No time to learn like the present,” Harry replied. “We’re here.”

And indeed they were. The statue of the One-Eyed Witch stood in front of them, frowning down at the duo with a frightening glare.

“Gunhilda of Gorsemoor?” Draco said. “Why are we looking at her? She’s uglier than Hagrid.”

“Watch it, Malfoy,” Harry warned him, gripping the Slytherin’s hand a little tighter.

“Or you’ll do  _what_ .... Potter?”

Harry flashed him an evil grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know!”

And Draco cursed at himself, because the very thought of Harry punishing him sent his heart racing and his palms sweating. He didn’t like that Harry had that kind of control over him, and he couldn’t let it show. He was relieved when Harry let go of his hand to wave his wand at the statue.

_“Dissendium!”_ To Draco’s surprise, the hump slid aside to reveal a dim staircase that led down to a secret passage. Begrudging to reveal that Harry kept on impressing him, though, he remained silent.

“Down we go,” Harry said. And he stepped lightly into the darkness, holding out his hand for Draco to grab again and follow.

The passage forward was pitch black, but Harry’s wand lit the way. Draco clenched the Gryffindor boy’s hand, but in excitement, not fear. He loved dark, creepy passages. It reminded him of the cool comfort of the Slytherin common room, even if it lacked the splendor. And hell—dark, creepy passages always had secrets! They always led somewhere interesting.

Though Draco knew Hogsmeade was a bit of a walk, the passage was longer than he expected, all the more so for lacking a view. After a few minutes, the excitement of holding Harry’s hand in a dark place got a little too intense to bear, and he had to break it up with some conversation.

“I’ve seen you in the mornings, Potter,” he said, “running around the lake.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and Draco could hear the smugness in his voice. “Every morning I get up and run a couple miles around the lake. Then I do some weightlifting.”

Draco allowed his gaze to run up and down Harry’s body, which even through his robes was tight and fit. “I can tell,” he said, doing nothing to hide his leer.

The Slytherin boy’s eyes did exactly what they meant to, and he saw Harry perk up and grin a little wider. If he reached out a hand to brush against Harry’s dick, he’d be prepared to bet it was getting hard.

“It’s no big deal,” Harry said, not even trying to be modest despite his words. “I just… get up and do it.”

“Mmhm,” Draco said. “Trying to impress me, Potter?”

Harry scoffed, though he also blushed. “Impress you, Malfoy? I don’t need to impress you.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I’m not  _trying_ to impress you,” Harry pressed.

“Of course not,” Draco smirked. “Because, what?—being yourself is enough to impress anyone?”

Harry averted his gaze by staring ahead at the dark passageway. “I’m going to stop speaking now.”

Draco laughed and squeezed the boy’s hand. He squirmed inwardly with delight when he saw the effect the extra pressure had on Harry. “You know, Potter? You’re cute when you get flustered.”

Harry turned away, but Draco saw his grin, and he saw the blush on the Gryffindor’s cheeks deepen further. He quickened his pace, dragging the Slytherin along after him. For a little while they continued in silence, Draco feeling fuzzier than he could ever remember feeling, and Harry turning his face away to hide a bashful smile.

_Damn, Draco!_ he thought to himself.  _This is more fun than getting him angry! I need to do this more often._

Though what he really,  _really_ wanted was to get Harry Potter both turned on  _and_ angry at the same time! Then maybe he’d grab Draco around the waist and thrust him up against the wall of this dark tunnel before kissing furiously at the back of his neck and ripping off his clothes. Draco could really go for that right about now!

Damn, damn, damn. Now Draco was turned on, too. He tried hard not to pay attention to his growing erection as it filled his black slacks, but the greater the effort he made, the more he thought about Harry easing a hand down in there to feel it. The more he tried not to, the more he thought about Harry setting down his wand and kneeling in the passage to take Draco full in his mouth. Maybe Harry would  _Nox_ his wand and leave them alone in the dark with only sensations and sounds to guide their ecstasy.

“We’re here,” Harry said suddenly, jerking Draco from his fantasy. And indeed, the passage had sloped up and come to an end at a trap door, which Harry slowly pushed up. “Coast clear,” he whispered.

They lifted themselves out of the passage, first Harry then Draco, and into a cellar full of sweets and candies.

“Honeydukes?” Draco breathed, his eyes slowly bulging.

“Yup,” Harry replied smugly.

“Holy hot Merlin!” Draco squealed. Before he could help himself, he lunged at a row of boxes, grabbing up an inappropriate amount of Honeydukes chocolate, Ice Mice, and Jelly Slugs to stuff into his bag. Then he grabbed a bag of Peppermint Toads and immediately popped one into his mouth.

He was deeply embarrassed to see that Harry was laughing at him. “Sweet tooth much, Malfoy?”

“So what if I’ve got one?” Draco pouted. “I like sweet things.”

Harry kept chuckling as he carefully let down the trap door. “Honestly, Malfoy? That’s adorable.”

Draco bristled. Halfway through unwrapping another Peppermint Toad, he changed his mind and stuffed it in his bag with the rest of the sweets. “I’m not  _adorable_ , Potter!”

“Ssshh!” Harry warned him, leading him to the exit to the cellar and peeking out to make sure the coast was clear. And, just when Draco had quieted down, Harry spun around and added suddenly, “You shouldn’t fight it, you know. I’m insanely attracted to adorable things.”

“Watch it, Potter, or I’ll hex you into oblivion!” Draco hissed back. But he also made a secret note to do more adorable things around Harry.

They slipped from the cellar and into the main store, and from there they skipped out of Honeydukes and onto the streets of Hogsmeade. It was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, and it was much quieter than Draco and Harry were used to. They saw only one other wizard out and about, but he strode swiftly for only a few feet before Apparating.

The Three Broomsticks was across the street and down the block. Harry and Draco took the walk at a meandering pace, neither of them in any hurry to hasten their time together. They no longer were holding hands, much to Draco’s disappointment, and he found himself casting quick glances over at Harry’s fingers. He wanted to reach out and grab them again, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept the conversation going. And this time, he decided to go for something a little more serious.

“So… you’re back to calling me Malfoy,” he observed. “Whatever happened to Draco?”

When thinking of something to say, he’d been tempted to go for snark again because that was his forte, but he knew that he couldn’t seduce Harry on good looks and snark alone. That was enough for a quick hate fuck, but he wanted more. He wanted to truly engage Harry. Maybe even enrapture him.

Harry turned to look at Draco, a slow smile spreading across his face. And it wasn’t an impish expression, but a real smile. “I thought that was a special occasion,” he said. “But if you want me to call you  _Draco_ , Draco, I will.”

Draco felt a similar smile spread across his face, and a queer current of energy jolted from his heart throughout body. “Please. Call me Draco, Harry.”

He wasn’t used to feeling the way he felt. In fact, so foreign was it that he wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. He thought he knew what happy was before, but maybe he was wrong. Or maybe he was just shedding the cloak of sarcasm he always wore. It’s just… Draco wasn’t used to feeling so  _genuine_ .

_Careful, Draco!_ he warned himself.  _By Merlin’s beard, be careful! Keep your eye on the prize—you’re seducing him, not romancing him. He must fall for you, but you must not fall for him. Or… if you must fall, don’t let it take over the plan! Fall a little, have some fun while you get the job done. And think about how delicious it’ll feel to break his heart once you’ve got all the information you need out of him!_

That sounded about right. Draco hummed a little as they crossed the street and entered the Three Broomsticks.

The pub was empty except for a warlock sitting alone at the bar. Madame Rosmerta herself wasn’t even visible, though Draco could hear her clattering dishes in the back. The two schoolboys approached the bar, but Harry held up a hand. “Find us a table, Draco,” he said. “I’ll get the drinks.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?” Draco smirked. But he squirmed inwardly again. He fucking loved it.

Half-stepping and half-skipping across the pub, Draco picked out a table in the corner. From the distance it was half-hidden in shadows, but at the table itself it seemed adequately lit. It was the perfect place to have private conversation.

A minute later, Harry sidled over with two large butterbeers. Placing one down in front of Draco, he took a seat and slowly lifted the drink to his lips.

“Hey,” Draco said when Harry set the Butterbeer back down. “You have a little bit on—” He reached over and brushed off a spot of creamy froth that clung to the corner of Harry’s mouth. He allowed his touch to linger just where the lips met, but he pulled away the moment Harry opened his mouth. Then Draco settled back down in his seat and gave Harry a devilish grin.

Harry panted audibly, and he struggled to quickly collect himself. When he did, though, he looked straight at Draco, never letting his intense green eyes turn away from the Slytherin boy. “So, Draco… you wanted us to get to know each other better.”

Draco took a slow, guarded sip of his butterbeer. “I said,” he said, “that I don’t feel comfortable kissing you again unless we know each other better.”

“But you  _do_ want to kiss again.”

A trace of a smile spread on Draco’s lips. He nodded. “So what do you want to know about me?”

“Oh!” Harry said, a little taken aback. “Uh, I thought you’d ask about me first?”

Draco shook his head. “Nope, me first. Anyways, it’s telling, what you’re going to ask.”

Harry leaned forward and said, with hardly a second’s thought, “Why did you  _really_ start the Gay Straight Alliance?”

“Why do you think?’ Draco said. “Because I’m fucking gay. I like dicks. I like men who like dicks, and I like people who like men who like dicks. And because there’s no visibility of LGBT people in the Wizarding World, despite the long and valuable history that we carry. Remember the ancient Scottish spells I talked about yesterday?—the ones developed in large part by the queer and questioning warlocks of the highlands—the ones that tapped into the pure power of love and emotion instead of the tribal blood connections that most Wizarding spells rely on?”

“No,” Harry said, “I don’t remember that.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Ask Granger to give a recap, I know she fucking listened. The point is, though, LGBT witches and wizards are valuable to the Wizarding world. They make amazing contributions, but they get no recognition or respect. Did you know they’re not even protected under the Wizarding Rights Act of 1964?”

“There’s a Wizarding Rights Act?” Harry said, actually laughing at the idea. “It must be short as hell. I’m guessing other intelligent magical creatures aren’t included.”

“Maybe not,” Draco said a little testily, “but it can be updated. Right now, it just protects witches and wizards based on gender, race, age, national origin, and disability.”

“Disability? Can’t they just take Skele-gro or some potion and return to normal?” Harry asked.

Draco threw Harry a withering look. “Some disabilities are magically induced, Harry. But anyway, we’re getting off-topic. I started the club because I want to increase the awareness and respect of LGBT witches and wizards.”

Draco was surprised by the amount of truth in what he said. Sure, he didn’t actually start the club until his dad asked him too, and of course his main motive was to prove his value to the Dark Side. But Draco really  _did_ want the Wizarding world to accept gay people. He really  _was_ interested in educating the Hogwarts students.

And maybe that’s why his explanation was so convincing. As much as it wasn’t the whole story, it actually was true. And Harry bought it—he nodded understandingly, and he even leaned back and appraised Draco with an approving gaze.

“You’re not all bad, Draco,” Harry said. “Good for you—honestly!” He took another sip of butterbeer and set the glass down on the table, never letting go of it but keeping it at arm’s length. And then he stared Draco down even more intensely than before. “But you’d tell anyone that. Tell me something else. Something you don’t want others to know.”

Draco sighed and played with his glass. He had known Harry would dig deeper. He thought of making something up, but he didn’t want to run the risk. Harry wasn’t the most perceptive student at Hogwarts, but he did have an uncanny instinct. Better to tell him something real—just nothing that would reveal Draco’s plots.

“Well,” he began slowly, “you know I have an easy life. My parents sort of spoil me, actually.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Draco, but everybody knows that.”

“Shut your twat, Potter,” Draco snapped. “ _Anyway_ … my parents give me nice things. I have money. I have the latest fashion trend in clothes. Anything I want to buy to look better or feel better, they make sure I get. Hell, when I asked, my father even gave me Nimbus 2001’s for the whole Slytherin Quidditch team… as you’ll well remember!”

“I sure do,” Harry said sourly.

“They give me anything I want,” Draco continued, “but I don’t think they love me.”

Harry didn’t react to Draco’s admission. He merely grasped his Butterbeer and kept his gaze locked on Draco. “What do you mean, they don’t love you?”

“I mean, I think mom did… does… did. Since I left for school, she’s lost her edge. Probably because of the company my father keeps. I guess she’s out of her element, and with me gone, she doesn’t really have much left. She drinks craft cocktails from 8:00 in the morning til midnight. I think she also sneaks off to London and finds Muggle designer drugs and goes to sex clubs. I found some dodgy receipts in her purse one time when I went in to nick some galleons.”

“Not much of a silver lining, but at least she’s open-minded enough to mingle with Muggles?” Harry offered up.

“Don’t be silly,” Draco snapped. “She just does it because the Wizarding world is too small for that kind of behavior. If you go to a Wizarding sex club, people  _know_ .”

“Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.” Harry leveled a sympathetic gaze at Draco. “That’s really rough. What about your dad?”

Draco sighed and shrugged. “He just… acts like he made a mistake, giving birth to me. Throws money at me like if he throws enough, I’ll go away like any other problem he can spend out of existence. I dunno, I’m probably being stupid. I know I sound like a spoiled brat, saying that. Who wouldn’t want the money I have?”

Harry nodded slowly and took a long, slow sip of butterbeer. “And that’s why you don’t tell anyone. You don’t want to sound even more spoiled and ungrateful than we already think you are.”

“I mean, you don’t have to put it like  _that_ ,” Draco said, “but yeah.”

“Well… I have a lot of money, just like you. And I know what it’s like to grow up unloved. And I understand: money  _doesn’t_ make it better. Money’s nice—I can buy what I want, and I never have to worry about making ends meet. But money is a poor substitute for love. It doesn’t even compare.”

Draco nodded and tried not to sigh again. He thought he’d feel sadder than he did, revealing this to Harry, but he honestly felt more relieved. He didn’t tell anyone these kinds of things. Crabbe and Goyle were too dumb to exist, and everyone else in Slytherin used secrets as currency. He hated to think how much his home problems were worth. It was actually a huge relief to let this off his chest, particularly with someone like Harry.

He hated to admit it, but Harry was more like him than he previously thought. If anyone could understand being rich but unloved, it was Harry. He didn’t really trust the Gryffindor, but he also knew him to be the noble type. Harry wouldn’t gossip about this. And if he  _did_ tell anyone, Draco would just claim it was a lie that Harry made up. They had enough of a history as rivals for people to believe this.

After a long gulp of butterbeer, it was Draco’s turn to stare Harry down. “You’re up now, Harry. Tell me all the secrets you keep to yourself and yourself alone.”

“I have best friends who love me,” Harry said. “I tell them everything.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Then tell me something you’d tell only them! And don’t whine about how your relatives hate you and deprived you as a youngster. Everyone knows that.”

“Well damn, thanks for putting that delicately,” Harry said sardonically. He took a sip of butterbeer, then set his glass down and looked at Draco.

Then he took another sip of butterbeer, set his glass down again, and looked back at Draco. For a second he turned his head towards the ceiling, his gaze flickering with it for three quick blinks, and then he was looking at Draco again, calculating.

“You say you want to know me, Draco?” he said.

Draco nodded.

“Are you  _quite sure_ you want to know me?” Harry pressed. “Are you positive?—the good and the bad?”

Draco nodded. When Harry said it like that, of course he was damn fucking positive. The buildup only made him want it more.

Harry took a bit of a breath, steeling himself. His poise had become unnaturally still, and his eyes were wider and fiercer than before. And yet for once he had trouble holding Draco’s gaze, though he forced himself to maintain it.

“I was in a bad way, Draco, at the beginning of the summer. You read the papers—you know about the fight at the Department of Mysteries and the death of Sirius Black. He was my godfather—closest thing I ever had to a real parent that can remember. He was gone, and Voldemort was back.

“I’ve fought him so many times, Draco, and I know I’m going to face him again. It won’t stop until he kills me.  _That’s_ all I could think about this summer. That, and Sirius’s death. That, and how alone I was with the Dursleys again. All I could think of was how much I lost, and of how much I still had left to lose.”

Draco marveled at Harry’s ability to hold back his tears. The Gryffindor’s words came as if he’d said them a thousands times in his head before he’d said them out loud. Draco imagined he must have dwelt over this for hours on end, day after day, before he finally told anyone. Even now, the memories seemed to be eating at Harry.

“The first day back at the Dursleys this summer was the worst in my life,” Harry continued quietly. “This time, more than any other time, I realized how much danger I was in… and how much danger my friends were in for being around me. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think I could keep them around anymore.

“I don’t know how to describe it, Draco—the depths of despair I sunk to. I’m a Gryffindor—I’m supposed to be brave! But I wasn’t. Over my first day back, I grew increasingly afraid until I became absolutely paralyzed by it. I didn’t know how to kill Voldemort. I didn’t think I would be able to. And I couldn’t bear to let everyone down like that, so I thought… well, I thought I might as well take charge myself of the way things ended.”

Draco’s grasp around his mug grew tighter and tighter with each passing sentence. His brow furrowed deep as he slowly said, “What do you mean by that, Harry?”

Fierce green eyes a pool of pain.

“At the end of that first day, when night came, I untied the rope that bound my trunk, fixed it around the clothes rack in my closet, and tried to hang myself.”

It was an awful silence that followed these words. As much as he tried to stop himself, Draco felt his eyes go wide and his mouth fall open. His chest seized up a little, and his hands became unnaturally still. He didn’t know what to do next, or how to act. For once in his life, he was truly, utterly lost for words.

When he didn’t speak, Harry ground on, his shoulders slumping and his eyes turning down towards his butterbeer. “I… I measured the rope many times, made sure it was the right length. I took a chair and set it up just under the clothes rack. I would kick it away, and I would plummet to the ground and stop with my feet just inches above the floorboards. And that would be that.

“I stood on the chair with the rope around my neck and looked out at my room. I remember the clock on my bedside table read 11:11. So I made a wish… wished that I wasn’t dooming the side of the Light by stepping out of the fight like this, wished that my friends would get through this. Wished that I could see my parents and Sirius again. Then I kicked out the chair from underneath me, and it toppled out into my bedroom.”

Harry fell silent for a moment, blinking at his butterbeer. Draco could see his long, black eyelashes flicking away the tears that threatened to fall. Through Draco’s prolonged shock, he managed to find his first words. “And then what happened?”

Harry gave a little shrug. “I woke up the Dursleys.”

“Um… what? What do you mean, you woke up the Dursleys? What about the fucking rope? What about hanging yourself?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, it didn’t work.”

And Harry finally lifted his butterbeer glass and took a long swig.

“Damn it, Harry, that’s not good enough. Go into more detail. I wasn’t there—I can’t magically put together the rest of the scene in my head!”

Harry actually chuckled at this. It was perhaps the saddest chuckle Draco ever heard, but it was nevertheless a relief to hear. “When I fell, the clothes rack broke in half. It took half of the shelves in the closet with it. All of Dudley’s old clothes, all of the Dursleys’ Christmas ornaments and old linens and little figurines… it all fell down, and I landed in a heap in their midst.

“And that’s how the Dursleys found me. I managed to get the rope off from around my neck just before they burst into the room, thank god. But Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia screamed at me for nearly half an hour over the mess I made. Dudley just stood there looking shocked. I think it was awful, but by that point I was too stricken by my botched attempt at suicide to even pay attention to what they were saying. I think Uncle Vernon might have thrown a few things at me—I dunno.”

Harry hmm’d and took another sip of butterbeer. Draco absently took a quick drink as well, still staring intensely at the Gryffindor boy sitting across from him. “And then what? Did you try to kill yourself again?”

“Once more,” Harry said, “a few days later. My scar was hurting really bad, so I took an aspirin from the Dursleys’ medicine cabinet. Then I took another, and then another. And I just… I sorta ate the whole bottle. Not all at once—I took it up to my bedroom with me and ate it over the course of 30 minutes, half-hoping I’d get sick before I finished it, half-hoping I’d overdose.”

“So you got sick? What happened?”

Harry shook his head. “Absolutely nothing. My headache didn’t even go away—in fact, it got worse. I guess aspirin doesn’t work on wizards.”

“And what kept you from trying again?” Draco pressed.

“After the first time, I was so ashamed at my failure, and I was too wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself that I just wanted to finish what I started. But when I failed second time, I figured it was a sign. Maybe it was my own magic trying to tell me something. Also, I got my first letters from Ron and Hermione hardly an hour after I finished the bottle. I felt so fucking guilty for trying to kill myself when I had friends like them, I promised myself I’d never try again.”

Harry turned his gaze back towards Draco and finally looked him in the eye again. The tears were gone, and he looked more at peace, if a little tired. “Don’t worry, Draco, I’m better now. I was able to leave the Dursleys, and my friends really helped me get over my grief and back into my usual fight mode. I’m really lucky to have them.”

Draco inhaled a long, deep breath, then let it out in a whoosh. “Excuse me for one moment, Harry,” he said.

He stood up and went over to the bar and flagged down Madame Rosmerta. “Two juniper gins on the rocks, please,” he said. She opened her mouth, probably about to refuse serving alcohol to minors on a school day, but he plunked down far more Galleons than the drinks were actually worth, so she closed her mouth and nodded.

“Coming right up,” she said, pulling out two tumblers, filling them with ice, and then pouring them to the brim with straight gin. Draco thanked her and took the two drinks back to his table.

“Sip this, Harry,” he said. “Don’t be the twat that downs quality gin in one gulp.”

Harry acquiesced, managing to break a sincere smile. “You’re adorable when you try to be bossy,” he said.

Draco let the comment go, but only because he had to say, “Damn, Harry. You Gryffindors  _really_ go all out. I must admit, I wasn’t expecting  _this_ when we came out here to ‘get to know each other.’ ”

Harry’s smile developed an impish edge to it. “I hope it earned me another kiss.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Sweet Merlin, Harry. If you’d do all that for a kiss, I’d hate to see what you do to fuck me.”

He smirked as Harry’s mouth fell open at the idea of them fucking. Harry had to shake his head a few times to clear his thoughts. “You better brace yourself, Draco,” he said, his voice quavering. “You don’t know how far I can go!”

He took a long sip of his gin, shuddering a bit as he swallowed the burning liquid. Then he became serious again, and he reached out to grab a hold of Draco’s hand. “Really, though, Draco. Thanks for listening.”

Draco nodded slowly and squeezed Harry’s hand. “Yeah. Anytime.”

Over the next half-hour they finished their gin. For a few minutes they drank in silence, and then they broke into small talk. Draco complained about how fucking stupid Crabbe and Goyle were. Harry talked about how Colin Creevey and Terry Boot were seen kissing at the party last night. It was easy and fun. Even when they left the Three Broomsticks, entered Honeydukes, and sneaked back into the secret passage, they kept up conversation.

But even as he talked about his plans for next week’s Gay Straight Alliance, Draco couldn’t keep his mind off their conversation in The Three Broomsticks. It was a little surprising, how much the two of them shared with each other. But even more so, it scared him.

He’d always been fascinated with Harry, even when he hated him. But the hatred and jealousy was melting away, and Draco was still fascinated. This boy was not a stuck-up celebrity like Draco had always made himself believe. This boy had been through so much for someone his age. Harry Potter was truly a brave wizard.

And for the very first time, Draco felt ashamed of his family’s association with the Dark Side. Yes, he’d always seen Purebloods as better, and yes, he’s always seen the people on the Light Side as weak and lovey-dovey and insipid. But how could Voldemort want to kill someone like Harry? How could anyone?

For the very first time, Draco felt his envy of Harry give way to respect. Now he really wanted that Gryffindor boy around. Now he  _really_ wanted to succeed in his seduction plot. Sure, he was still trying to steal secrets from Harry to prove to his father that he was worth something to the Dark Side. But at least now Harry was truly a worthy adversary!

And hopefully a fantastic fuck.

Just before they reached the statue of the one-eyed witch, Draco took a hold of both of Harry’s hands. “Here, Harry,” he said, “you deserve this.”

And he drew him in for a long, slow kiss. He used tongue, and he moved his hands slowly but assuredly over Harry’s strong body, feeling the muscles that rippled along his chest and shoulders. His fingers came to a rest in the small of Harry’s back, just above his perfectly-sloped arse.

Then Draco broke it off. Harry moaned as their lips parted, and he refused to stop his hands from stroking Draco’s ribs and running down to the Slytherin’s waistline. Draco longed to let him go further, be he forced himself to stop. He prodded his wand at the trapdoor above them and said,  _“Dissendium!”_

The statue moved aside, allowing Draco to climb out into the brightly-lit Hogwarts hall. He held a hand out to Harry, who climbed out after him, and they stood together for a moment longer.

Then the bell rang, signaling the end of the classes for the day. Draco gave Harry one last kiss on the cheek and whispered into his ear, “See you later, Harry.”

*****

Later that evening, Harry called his friends for a meeting in the Room of Requirement. He got there first, just after 7:00. He told his friends to be there at 7:30, so he called for Dobby, who appeared with an eager pop.

“What is you wanting today, Harry?” Dobby crowed.

“Another drink,” Harry said promptly.

“What is you meaning by  _another_ drink?”

“Oh, er… I mean, a drink. My first drink of the day, Dobby.”

“But of course!” Dobby said. “Do you want two, or just one?”

Harry almost said  _two_ , but stopped himself just in time. “I’d better do no more than one, Dobby,” he said. “But make it strong.”

Dobby acquiesced with all delight, and in five seconds flat he was back with long stemmed glass, filled to the brim with a sparkly liquid. “Sparkling white rum and ginger!” he said proudly, shoving the glass in Harry’s hand. “Drink up, now!--you is a growing boy!”

“Thanks, Dobby,” Harry said. “Oh, and quick question. I just need a bit of advice.”

“Harry is wanting to ask me for advice?” Dobby swooned, his wide eyes growing even wider.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I don’t know if you have any experience in this sort of thing, but… if you’re trying to sleep with someone and you tell them personal details in an effort for them to know you better, so they feel more comfortable going to bed with you… well, can you go too far?”

Dobby cocked his large head. “Is Harry trying to ask… can you tell them details that is being too personal?”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

Dobby shook his head, his ears flapping and his nose trembling. “I is not thinking so. I is thinking it is good to share a lot. I is wanting to have sex with Winky, so I is telling her about Dobby’s life and all about how I is crying and depressed when my parents died, and how I is always wanting another elf to hold at night in the bed, and it is working! Now Winky and I is having not just sex with our penis and vagina, but we is also having sex inside each other’s butts! And Winky is also open to having a threesome with me and Clockles!”

“Um… thanks,” Harry said. “That… that helps.”

“Anything for the great Harry Potter!” Dobby said. “Dobby can go into more detail, if you is wanting.”

Harry threw up a hand and shook his head. “No no, Dobby. Thanks, you gave enough detail already. It was, um, a lot of detail to work with.”

“Good!” Dobby said. “I is glad it helps. And I is thinking that whoever you is trying to put your penis into is being happy that they is soon to be getting Harry Potter’s man milk! If it were me, I is being happy to be full of Harry Potter penis!”

“Uhhhh… Dobby? I appreciate the sentiment. Also, good god—I’ll need that other drink after all, and please make it even stronger. And then, um, I need a little time  _alone_ .”

After Dobby got him another drink, and after Harry purged the revulsion of the idea of him fucking the overeager house-elf, he sunk down into the little armchair that the Room of Requirement had provided him, and he mulled over his afternoon with Draco.

He didn’t know what possessed him to go into such detail with Draco Malfoy. He didn’t know why he even wanted to. All he knew was that, as much as he’d be happy to plug the Slytherin up the butt and bang a load into him, he wanted even more to do things right. He actually wanted the Slytherin feel that this was more than just a seduction plot. He wanted the Slytherin to feel like Harry actually cared.

_I mean, I don’t_ actually _care!_ Harry told himself.  _This is a scheme, after all. This is an effort to find out Draco’s plans for the Dark Side, and fucking him along the way is an added benefit. But I want to make him feel_ really good _before I have to break his heart._

At 7:30, his friends arrived, and the room provided them with a few more armchairs. By now, Harry had started on the second drink, and he was a little tipsy.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione sighed when she entered and saw him with his rum-and-ginger. “It’s a school night.”

“And what was yesterday?” Ginny said sardonically. “The apocalypse? Dobby?” she clapped her hands, and the house-elf appeared. “Could you get me one of those, too, please?”

“And me!” Ron butted in. Hermione glared and him, and he quickly added, “ _Please?_ What, Hermione, why are you still glaring? I said please!”

Neville and Luna held off, as did Hermione, but Dobby got Ron and Ginny drinks, and once they were all settled, Harry began speaking.

“Sorry, Hermione,” he said, “but I lied to you this afternoon. I didn’t have a thing with Dumbledore.”

“Oh?” Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but I did something better! I went out with Draco!”

“Aww!” Ginny squealed around a mouthful of rum and ginger. “That’s adorable!”

“It’s part of the plot,” Ron corrected, screwing up his face, “ _not_ adorable.”

“Was it… like a date?” Hermione tried to clarify.

“Well… not exactly. But we went to The Three Broomsticks and got to know each other better.”

“How did you get there, though?” Hermione asked. “It’s not a Hogsmeade weekend. It’s not even a weekend, for that matter.”

“We took the passageway behind the One-Eyed Witch,” Harry said.

“Oh Harry!” Hermione sighed, disappointed. “You didn’t show Malfoy that passage, did you? We’re supposed to be the only ones that know about that! Not even Filch knows.”

_Damn it_ . That had completely escaped Harry’s mind, and now he felt dumb. That secret passage sort of  _was_ a big deal, and he’d completely ignored caution and gone ahead and shown Draco. But he hated to admit his mistake, especially one as glaring as this. “C’mon, Hermione,” he said weakly, “it got us out to Hogsmeade, and we got some extended alone time together. I’m making some real headway here!”

“Still, though,” Ginny said slowly, “that’s sort of risky, showing him the passageway.”

“What’s he going to do about it?” Harry waffled.

“Tell the Death Eaters?” Neville said.

“They might come through Honeydukes at night and kill us all,” Luna pointed out logically.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and turned to Ron wordlessly for some support. But his best friend shrugged and said, “Hate to admit it, mate, but they have a point. It’s a pretty risky move you pulled there. I really hope it was worth it.”

“It was!” Harry said earnestly, imbuing as much excitement into his voice as possible to win them back. “It really, really was. We talked a lot, and I found out a whole lot about him, and when we got back at the end, we kissed again!”

Hermione shifted in her armchair and stared Harry down. “What exactly did you find out about him?”

“A lot about his home life,” Harry said. “His mom’s an alcoholic who sneaks off to Muggle London and does drugs and fucks Muggles in sex clubs. And his dad doesn’t love him.”

Ron and Ginny tittered at the idea of Mrs. Malfoy in a sex club. Luna and Neville also perked up at this level of juicy gossip. Hermione, however, was more reserved as she said, “Okay. You’ve got some personal ammunition we could use against him. Good for you, Harry. But what about his motive for starting the Gay Straight Alliance? His  _real_ motive? And what about any of the Dark Side’s secrets?--did you get any of those?”

“I’m… I’m closing in on that,” Harry said uncomfortably. “I think a few more days and I could get that out of him.”

“We really need that,” Hermione said formally, “or letting him know about that secret passage would not have been worth it.”

Harry nodded bashfully. “I’ll… I promise I’ll get that information from him.” He sunk into his armchair and tried not to sulk. He’d been so excited about this afternoon, and in two minutes all his glory had been deflated. But hey— _he_ was the one doing all the work!  _He_ was the one seducing Malfoy. The others were there for support, as usual, and they didn’t understand that these things needed to be done delicately.

“Good,” Hermione said. “Now… you said you two went to The Three Broomsticks to get to know each other better? Obviously Draco Malfoy talked a lot about his home life. But what did you tell him?”

“Honestly,” Harry said dishonestly, “I didn’t tell him anything. I just listened to him go on and on about his home life (you know how self-centered he can be), and I think he’s just really taken by the fact that he can finally talk to someone about it.”

This time it was more than a white lie to make himself appear better, and this time around Harry felt truly guilty for not telling them the truth. But come on! His friends were already upset enough that he’d let Draco know where the secret passage was. Not that he’d been planning on it before, but there was definitely no way now that he’d let them know he’d also told Draco about his suicide attempts.

That’d be just plain dumb. No, what he really needed to do now was focus on seducing Draco. This was his job and his alone. His friends were great support, and they could give him great ideas, but from this point onward, there would be a lot he’d have to hold close to the chest. There would be a lot they wouldn’t understand.

*****

**A/N:** Oh my god, I’m so sorry, you all! I know it’s been a month since I last posted. Even worse, I’m actually quite a few chapters ahead of what I’m posting,  _and_ I finished another chapter or two in that time. So there’s really no excuse on my part—just a lot of traveling this past month, and I haven’t had time to edit and post.

I’ll post again very soon to make up for it. In the meantime, leave a review, even if it’s just to tell me to get off my lazy ass and post more!


	7. The Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilderoy Lockhart decides he must get involved in the seduction plot, too. And Harry is a tease.

**CHAPTER SEVEN: The Tease**

The end of the week brought with it a cold front, and suddenly it was autumn—cool, crisp, and multicolored. Even on the other end of the isle, at Malfoy Manor in Southern England, the final summer warmth had made way for the chilly fall air.

It was early Friday afternoon at the Malfoy Manor, and the Death Eaters were slowly beginning to gather throughout the day. They loved it when Voldemort held meetings at the manor, which was a far classier and more opulent place than any other the Dark Lord chose. Even better was when Voldemort held meetings at the Malfoy Manor on Friday evenings—when this happened, they’d take the day off work, mill around Malfoy Manor and get day drunk off of Narcissa’s fine alcohol, have the meeting with Voldemort, then spend the night time raping and pillaging Muggle communities. It was all quite droll.

Of course, recently they had to “lay low” to lull the Wizarding world into a false sense of security. So they weren’t able to throw one of their usual raging torture fests. Some of the more prissy Death Eaters like Lucius took this as an excuse to spend their evenings in, sipping even more wine and taunting their house elves.

Most of them, however, would sneak off in small groups, often headed by Bellatrix or MacNair, and kill Muggles on the sly. The other week they went to a Muggle costume party at a London nightclub. The music was so loud and the lightshow so frenetic that the Death Eaters had practically screeched  _Avada Kedavra_ , flashing green light and all, and nobody found out that anyone was dead until hours later. A dozen Muggles were killed, and authorities blamed it on overdoses due to a dangerous party drug that had hit the club scene a few weeks ago.

The Death Eaters were hoping for more of that tonight. By 2:00 in the afternoon, a couple dozen of them were already wandering the house and grounds, some of them gossiping over glasses of wine, others by themselves with goblets of Firewhiskey or bourbon.

It was into this scene that Gilderoy Lockhart arrived, ushered into the gate by a servile house-elf. He sashayed up the front path through the grounds and was greeted at the double-door entrance of the manor by Lucius Malfoy himself.

“Gilderoy,” Lucius said, pasting on his business smile and extending his arms in welcome. “So glad you could make it.”

“Of course, my fine Lucius!” Gilderoy responded. His smile was more genuine—though, to be fair, he was never in a bad mood. Especially not now that he had his memory back. It turns out that the Potter and Weasley duo hadn’t ratted on him after all, so everyone still thought he was the hero he described in his books.

But that chapter of his life was over now. It was too risky, continuing to churn out books about adventures that weren’t his own. Particularly, he was afraid releasing another heroic autobiography would stir up Potter or Weasley’s ire again and that they actually  _would_ tell.

So now he had turned to writing self-help guides to romance, aimed squarely at the witching demographic. He had just finished the first draft of  _Quivering Cauldrons: How to Find Your Dream Man and Make Him Yours_ , and him and Lucius were meeting up to discuss releasing the book under one of the Malfoy’s new publishing houses.

They exchanged pleasantries as a house elf took Gilderoy’s purple sequin-studded coat and waved them through the entrance hall.

“Fine day, isn’t it?” Lucius said smoothly.

“A little nippy, actually!” Gilderoy disagreed brightly. “I’m partial to summer myself—preferably on a beach surrounded by hot little twinks!” He laughed at himself, wondering how anyone could manage to be as upbeat and humorous as he.

Lucius didn’t even make an effort to ask what a twink was. Instead, he glided through the hall and up a red-carpeted staircase, leaving Gilderoy to follow in his wake. “Would you like some wine?” he offered.

“Do you have cocaine, actually?” Gilderoy asked. He’d managed to convince Lucius Malfoy and the Death Eaters that cocaine was a wizarding drug from the tropical forest in the Congo, and so far everyone had bought the lie. Only Narcissa knew otherwise, but she holed herself up in her room whenever the Death Eaters came over.

Lucius snapped his fingers, and a house elf appeared, bowing and scraping his nose to the floor. “You, elf!” he snapped. “Some cocaine for our guest.”

The house elf disappeared with a  _pop_ , only to reappear a moment later as they neared Lucius’s study. The creature offered up a silver tray with two generous lines of glistening white powder. “It is being our purest cocaine, Master Lockhart!” the house elf squeaked.

“Silence!’ Lucius hissed, aiming a strategic kick at the house elf the moment Gilderoy had taken the tray. His boot connected with the elf’s chin with a meaty thud, and the house elf gulped and tried not to whimper as blood spattered from his nose and onto his white pillowcase. “Now go iron your hands, you scum.”

The house elf popped out of sight again, and Gilderoy eagerly snorted a line of coke up each nose. Another house-elf appeared to whisk away the tray, but Gilderoy stopped him. “Uh uh!” he trilled, licking his finger and dabbing up the leftover powder so he could rub it on his gums. “Okay, little guy, take it away.”

He and Lucius entered the study. “How’s your son?” Gilderoy asked as they sat down, Lucius behind his desk and Lockhart across from him. “How’s your little Draco?”

“Not here, thank Merlin,” Lucius said, his lip curling. “He’s at Hogwarts. Sixth Year, I think. Or is it his Fifth?”

“Is he helping out with that diversity campaign you’re running?” Gilderoy said.

Lucius, normally not one for humor, actually laughed at this. “He is, as a matter of fact. I made him start a gay club.”

“Oh goodie!” Gilderoy squealed, bouncing up and down in his seat. “That’s the part I did in the ad campaign! How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” Lucius said noncommittally. “Harry Potter’s in it.”

Gilderoy almost wished he wasn’t already bouncing up and down, because  _that_ was what he really wanted to start freaking out about. “Harry Potter’s gay?” he said. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Maybe he is,” Lucius said. “Maybe he’s just trying to keep an eye on my son.”

“Do you need someone to find out for you?” Gilderoy said. “Someone to seduce Harry?”

Lucius shot Gilderoy a weird look. “That’s not really—”

“Because I can do that,” Gilderoy said. “I really owe you one for helping me get my career back on track. I’d be happy to help.”

“But Draco’s sort of already—”

“I know just how to please boys like Harry!” Gilderoy interrupted, flapping his wrists in excitement. “The little twinks  _loooovvee_ a strong, straight-acting man like me. I’ll have him spilling all his secrets, and I’ll report them all back to you.” He turned around in his chair, first to the right, then to the left. “Uh, any more cocaine?”

Lucius sighed and snapped his fingers, and a house elf appeared to lay down another silver tray with two more lines.

“Thanks!” Gilderoy said, clamping down his left nostril. “I know you’re busy, Lucius—you’ve got the Ministry elections coming up on the 30 th —got some seats to win, some pols to overthrow.” He lowered his head towards the tray and snorted up the first line. “You leave the Potter boy to me.” He switched nostrils and snorfled up the second line.

Lucius shrugged. “What can I say?” he said, his voice laden with sarcasm. “Thank you—I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Oh no, Lucius, the pleasure was all mine!” Gilderoy promised, completely missing the sarcasm as he dabbed up the remaining cocaine. “Now let’s get down to business.”

They started talking about the book. Of course Gilderoy was completely focused on the best ways to edit and market this sexual self-help guide to witches, but since he was high on cocaine, he was uncommonly good at keeping his mind on two things at once.

And he was thinking about Harry. Sure, he hated that the boy uncovered his secret. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to fuck him. He’d fuck him and find out secrets that he could sell to Lucius.

Yup, that sounded about right. But more on that later. First this meeting. And then the rest of the day. He’d hang out with the Death Eaters until he found MacNair and Bellatrix. Bellatrix liked to drag them down to the dungeons, strip MacNair naked, tie him up, and whip him while ordering him to suck Gilderoy Lockhart’s dick. That was always delightful, especially because Gilderoy was never brave enough to join the Death Eaters for their rape and murder fests. He wanted a taste of violence, but he chickened out at the real thing. It was good enough to ream the back of MacNair’s throat.

*****

After spending an afternoon at the Three Broomsticks with Draco, Harry was feeling better than ever about his chances. Though they didn’t speak again until the weekend, Harry could still feel the connection lingering. When he thought of Draco in class, he smiled to himself instead of feeling nervous like he had before. When he counted the hours since they last spoke, he felt more at peace.

They’d shared a real part of themselves last Wednesday. Harry now held a little bit of Draco in him, and Draco held a little bit of him. Harry felt within him the same thrill he’d felt when he’d kissed the Slytherin boy before, but now there was something else. A tenderness—a fierce tenderness. He wanted to see Draco again. Sure, he wanted to fuck—so, so badly! But he also wanted to hold him.

He felt a little bad that he’d spilled Draco’s personal life to his friends. Sure, his friends heard everything (well, almost everything). But he felt like he’d offered up a secret that wasn’t his to offer.

Oh, well. Onward and upward! That was an unfortunate side effect of this seduction plot. He’d get over it… he thought. But now it was time to focus on taking their relationship to the next level.

It was a busy week at school, though, so it wasn’t until Sunday that Harry ran into Draco again. Harry was finishing up an essay in the library when Draco walked by with an armful of scrolls.

“Hey, you,” Harry said, swift to catch the other boy’s attention.

Draco raised a brow at the cheeky address, but he stopped, and after a moment he even let a smile play across his lips. “Hi, Harry.”

He sat down at Harry’s table and locked his gaze on him, flicking his tongue out to moisten his lips. Harry’s heart jumped like a schoolgirl’s. “H-how’s your week been?” he asked the Slytherin, very aware that his voice was cracking.

“Busy,” Draco said.

“Same,” Harry agreed. “What are you up to right now?”

Draco fiddled with his scrolls. “I just finished up a couple essays, and now I’m done with my work for the day. I was going to go back to the Slytherin common room.”

“Don’t do that just yet,” Harry said quickly, gathering up his belongings as well.

“What do you mean?” Draco said, letting loose a short laugh. “Why shouldn’t I go back to my own common room?”

“Come with me instead,” Harry said, realizing how impetuous he was being, but too eager to stop. “I’m about to work out.”

Draco’s laugh started up again. “You want me to watch you work out?” he said incredulously. “Watching you lift weights isn’t exactly fun. Or romantic.”

“No, I did that already this morning,” Harry said quickly, “after my run around the lake.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” Draco said, though with only a touch of envy.

“No, it’s the afternoon now, so I’m doing training,” Harry said eagerly. “I can show you some fight moves!”

Draco perked up and stopped smirking. A hand fluttered to his chest and he looked Harry in the eye and said, “That sounds pretty interesting, actually.”

“It is,” Harry said, coming up with a plan in his head. He wanted that Slytherin boy alone, and he wanted him turned on. “Follow me.”

So they packed up their bags and left the library. Harry had to consciously keep himself from running as he led Draco through the hallways and up to the Room of Requirement. As they reached the door across from the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, Harry knew he shouldn’t let Draco know where the Room of Requirement was. But, he figured, he wasn’t actually  _telling_ him about the room or what it did. For all Draco knew, it was just another random place in the castle.

The room behaved itself this time, presenting Harry with a normal classroom, the desks pushed to the side and a slightly-raised platform set up in the middle with gym-mat cushioning. To someone who didn’t know better, it just looked like a classroom Harry had converted into a training room. Of course, the place wasn’t above sneaking a little bit of ambience: the lights were dimmed a little, and the temperature was just a smidgen too warm.

Draco stripped off his robes, and Harry followed suit. However, the Gryffindor boy didn’t stop there. He unbuttoned his school shirt and let it fall alongside his robes. Then he peeled his undershirt off over his head and turned around to face Draco head-on.

Draco’s jaw dropped as he ogled Harry. “Wh—what are you doing?” he whispered, his fingers flexing as he stared at Harry’s sculpted chest and tight abs.

Harry smirked, knowing how good he looked. He couldn’t exercise every morning and train every afternoon without it having  _some_ effect on his body. And what an effect it had! His once-skinny frame was now filled out with lean, firm muscle, and every bit of extra fat was gone.

“I’m changing into my training clothes,” Harry said, undoing his belt and letting his trousers fall to the floor. Shortly after the seduction plot, he’d taken to wearing nice underwear, confident he’d run into a situation like this eventually. And it paid off. Draco’s jaw dropped even further as he gazed at Harry’s form-fitting, square-cut black briefs. The underwear hugged and lifted Harry’s package, putting it forth prominently and perfectly. The black fabric lent some modicum of modesty, but the design of the underwear left little mystery as to Harry’s size and shape.

Draco moaned a little bit and flexed his fingers even harder.

With an even bigger smirk, Harry bent over and pulled a pair of trousers out of his schoolbag. The material was made out of dragon hide—dark brown and thin and breathable, but tougher than leather and certainly stronger than any clothes Harry had owned before. He’d been through hundreds of hours of training since the beginning of the summer, and these trousers didn’t have even a scuff or a loose thread.

He pulled them on. They offered the slightest bit of room around his calf, but stuck closely to his thighs and melded themselves to his butt. The front prominently displayed his crotch, but not nearly as much as his underwear; after all, these trousers were made for training, and lifting his cock and balls up too high would counteract the built-in protection charm.

“Nice training trousers,” Draco breathed, licking his lips. “I can’t wait to see what the shirt looks like.”

“I don’t wear a shirt while training,” Harry said casually. “It gets in the way.”

Draco stammered a little, and he had to fake a cough to recover his composure. “Or maybe,” he said, managing to regain his cool, “you just want to show off that body.”

With a flick of his wrist, Harry drew his wand from its invisible holster. “I don’t hear you complaining,” he said.

“I’m not,” Draco agreed, crossing his arms and gazing appreciatively at Harry. “So… what are you going to show me?”

“I’m gonna disarm you,” Harry said. “And I’ll do it with more than just my smile!”

“Though that alone is enough, I’m sure,” Draco scoffed. “You’re such a prat.”

Harry shrugged and adopted a defensive stance, his legs bent at the knees and his shoulder hunched forward. “I earned it,” he said, half joking, but half matter-of-fact. “Now throw some spells at me.”

“Okay,” Draco said. He pulled out his own wand from a pocket in the front of his robes and said,  _“Expelliarmus.”_

_“Protego,”_ Harry countered lazily, and the green light bounced off his shield and absorbed into the wall. “C’mon, do better than that.”

_“Diffindo,”_ Draco responded, putting more of a thrust into his wrist. The spell leapt out of his wand, only to be flicked away by another shield from Harry.  _“Furnunculus! Rictusempra!”_

“Come at me, Malfoy!” Harry jibed. “You gotta do better than that!”

Draco’s voice rose as he cast curse after curse, soon throwing ones Harry recognized as Dark magic. But this did not faze him—his shield charm was too strong. He held steady when Draco started advancing towards him, unrelenting with the curses.

And then as soon as Draco was ten feet away, Harry dropped his shield spell, ducked to avoid a barrage of curses, and leapt forward. He grabbed Malfoy around the knees and knocked him off his feet, disarming him as he landed with a thud on the mat beneath him. In a flash, Harry was on top, their legs tangled around each other, but Harry firmly in control, his bare chest hovering inches above Draco’s, and his wand pointed at the boy’s pale, pulsing neck. With his left hand he held down Draco’s wrist.

“If you were a Death Eater, you’d be dead now,” Harry whispered. He sheathed his wand, but he did not climb off Draco. Instead, he deftly whipped his right hand to Draco’s side, grabbing the Slytherin’s remaining wrist and pinning it to the mat.

There he hovered for a long moment, his chest rising and falling, his green eyes locked with Draco’s grey, and their lips only inches apart. Though he had expended very little energy, Harry still felt light-headed and a little drunk off the sight of Draco. The Slytherin boy’s lips parted invitingly, and his body gave a wee little squirm beneath Harry’s. His blonde hair was mussed and his clothes were in disarray. And he was underneath. It would be so easy for Harry to do whatever he wanted. He could rip open Draco’s shirt and kiss the sweet, pale skin beneath it. He could reposition his knees between Draco’s thighs and pry them open so he could grind against him. He could hold down Draco’s wrist with his elbow and pull at his blonde hair… hard.

But instead he slowly lowered his lips onto Draco’s and drew him in for a single long kiss. It was even better than last time—Harry’s lips had already memorized the warmth and softness of Draco’s, and the anticipation of feeling it again burst into reality. It blew his mind that he was privileged to have access to this. It blew his mind that he was doing something he’d previously only dreamed he could do. But more than anything, it blew his mind that he felt it in his heart as well as his body. Kissing Draco thrilled him. Kissing Draco absolutely satisfied him.

He had always dreamed of hate-fucking Draco, but this was something more.

Harry slowly broke the kiss and pulled away, his lips still parted and his eyes burning bright. He gradually relaxed his hands, relinquishing his hold on Draco. He  _could_ do anything he wanted to Draco, but what he wanted the most was for Draco to want it, too.

Apparently the Slytherin boy  _did_ want something more—not two seconds later he grinned impishly and grabbed Harry around the hips, rolling them over so Draco was on top. The blonde boy’s fingers ran along Harry’s bare stomach and up onto to sparse hairs of his chest before eagerly cupping his hands around the nipples and squeezing. Then he leaned down and kissed Harry again, pressing his body against Harry’s and backing up just enough so his firm ass ground against the erection that grew in the Gryffindor’s trousers.

“Draco,” Harry moaned, slowly thrusting his hips as Draco writhed against him.

“Mmm?” Draco responded, breaking the kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry breathed.

Draco glowed at Harry’s words, but he did not reply with his own compliment. Instead, he ground against Harry one last time and then bounced to his feet.

“I’ve gotta go now,” Draco said.

“But you just got here,” Harry protested, propping himself up by his elbows. His chest was heaving. “Stay a little longer.”

“Nope, gotta go now,” Draco said, still grinning at the Gryffindor. “See you later, Harry.”

“Wait!” Harry called, but it was too late. Draco had already picked up his schoolbag and was skip-stepping out of the room.

Harry sighed as he watched the door slam shut. That moment of kissing was an absolutely perfect moment, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t way too short! He wanted much, much more. The outrageous tenting of his tight trousers gave physical testimony to that.

Swearing to himself, Harry got to his feet and glanced up at the clock that hung in the front of the room. It was 4:55 in the afternoon.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Harry swore. He should already be in Dumbledore’s office—they had an Order meeting in just five minutes!

He whipped up his school bag and rushed out of the Room of Requirement, struggling to pull on his shirt as he took the hallways at a sprint. He barely managed to get the garment over his torso before he reached the gargoyle in front of Dumbledore’s office.

“Ch-chocolate anuses,” he wheezed, and the gargoyle granted him access to the winding stairway, which he took at a sprint. He burst into Dumbledore’s office without knocking, interrupting the old man as he was crooning some strange melody to Fawkes.

“There you are, my dear boy!” Dumbledore said gleefully after turning around to see what the noise was. “Are you ready to go?”

“Y-yeah,” Harry panted.

“Wonderful,” Dumbledore said. “And… Harry? Uh—” he pointed suggestively down at his own crotch.

Harry cocked his head and gave Dumbledore an uncomfortable look. “What?”

Dumbledore cleared his throat and pointed at his crotch again.

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of this awkward gesture. He shuffled his feet and, not quite looking Dumbledore in the eye, muttered, “Wh-what are you getting at, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore rolled his eyes and sighed. “My dear boy, I’m trying to get you to look at your  _own_ loins.”

So Harry glanced down at his own crotch and saw, much to his mortification, that a significant portion of precum had leaked through his underwear and spread itself in a glistening dark patch across the front of his trousers.

“Oh!” he eeped, turning as red as a cherry. He whipped out his wand and stammered, “ _Evanesco!_ ” The precum vanished, and he determinedly avoid Dumbledore’s gaze as the headmaster turned one of Fawkes’ molted feathers into a Portkey.

*****

A few minutes later, Harry and Dumbledore were at Grimmauld Place. They were by no means the last to arrive, but they breezed into the kitchen an awkward few minutes after 5:00, and everyone’s gaze followed them without a word as they took a quick seat.

It wasn’t a heartening meeting. Once everyone was gathered, Dumbledore brought up the issue that had been Harry’s focus for the past few weeks: Voldemort’s diversity campaign.

“Just as we predicted,” Dumbledore sighed, “Voldemort’s new, non-violent approach is having the exact effect that he intended. Purebloods that have sided with us in the past against Voldemort’s violence are now stepping out of the fight. That is to say… they hadn’t really stepped back in yet. They’re just sitting on the sidelines. I have talked with a few of my Wizengamot connections, and the word around the Ministry is that nobody is interested in taking sides unless actual violence breaks out.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Most of them had offered up ideas to combat Voldemort’s new tactic, but they were all aware of how awful their notions were.

Dumbledore turned to Kingsley Shacklebolt and said, “Do you have an update on any plans the Death Eaters have to sway the upcoming election?”

Kingsley stood up and cleared his throat. “No.” And he sat back down.

Dumbledore coughed nervously and cast his eyes around the room again. “Snape, any update from you?”

Snape gave his head a little shake, flopping a couple lanks of greasy hair across his face. “The Death Eaters were going to go out on a Muggle torturing spree this past Friday, but Narcissa had just imported a particularly strong bourbon from China, and a couple of the Death Eaters discovered her drug cabinet and raided its contents. It pretty much incapacitated them, and they’re all still incredibly hung over. Except for Alectus Carrow, who is dead. He overdosed on a lethal combination of bourbon, cocaine, and extract of Nundu tears.”

A long, uncomfortable silence. Then Arthur Weasley asked, “What’s cocaine?”

“It’s a Muggle drug with properties similar to the ground leaf of the Tibetan turnip,” Snape explained.

“Wow, Muggles are fascinating!” Arthur breathed. “They’ve made their own drug to increase alertness and help them work harder! Gee, sometimes I wish I were a Muggle child so I could try all their inventions and medicines!”

“Arthur,” Snape cut him off dryly, “Muggle children don’t do cocaine.”

“Why not?” Arthur said. “Tibetan Wizarding children use the leaf of the Tibetan turnip to help them focus on channeling their magic into new spells.”

“First off,” Snape said, “Tibetan Wizarding children  _chew_ the leaf. They don’t grind it up and snort it. Secondly, cocaine is more dangerous. It’s illegal in most Muggle societies.”

“But not in Wizarding society!” Arthur pointed out eagerly. “I want to try it!”

“No, you don’t,” Snape snapped. “It’s a strong drug, and it’s not used for practical purposes. It’s used by partygoers to enter a heightened state of awareness.”

“So it’s like a potion in powdered form?” Arthur asked.

Snape glared at Arthur and squeezed the bridge of his own nose. “ _No_ , Weasley. It’s not magic—it’s Muggle science.”

“Wow,” Arthur breathed again.

“We’re getting off topic!” Snape snapped. “Please, Dumbledore, put us back on track!”

So Dumbledore did. Unfortunately, “back on track” meant coming up with more unworkable ideas to counteract Voldemort’s “diversity campaign” scheme. The meeting lasted an hour, but by the end they had devolved into gossiping about their coworkers and swapping potions recipes. Around 6:00, Dumbledore let the meeting die down into small talk and dinner, and he motioned for Harry to follow him out of the room.

The two of them went up to one of the bedrooms on the second floor, where they found Lupin and McGonagall sitting on the canopy bed talking about old times back at Hogwarts. They looked up when Dumbledore and Harry entered.

“Oh good, you’re here!” Lupin said.

“Yes indeed,” Dumbledore replied. “So, Harry, what do you think of the training we’ve been giving you?”

“It’s been great,” Harry said honestly. “I know a lot of new spells, and I’m in better physical shape than I’ve ever been.”

“We’ve noticed,” McGonagall said appreciatively, her gaze lingering a little long on Harry’s tight undershirt (in his rush earlier, he had not taken the time to put on his robes).

“Yeah,” Harry continued. “I feel like I could fight off any Death Eater that came at me. I just wish… I just wish we had a better idea of how to defeat Voldemort.”

“Well,” Dumbledore said, pausing for half a moment to put a beat between Harry’s wish and his next statement, “I’ve thought we could diversify your training a bit more!”

“How?” Harry asked.

“Professor McGonagall is going to train you to be an Animagus!” Dumbledore announced proudly.

“Wicked!” Harry said, bouncing on his feet. “I’ve always wanted to be an Animagus. I’ll be just like my dad!”

“You will indeed!” Lupin said with a smile that was nevertheless tinged with a little sadness.

“I’ll be in touch with you this week, once I figure out my schedule,” McGonagall promised.

“Cool,” Harry said. “Perfect. Really, this is going to be great.” They all nodded in agreement. But then Harry turned more serious as he added, “However… what about Voldemort? What plans do we have to defeat him?”

A silence hung around the room for a moment, and Harry was suddenly aware of how dingy the blue-gray walls were, and how long it had been since Kreacher had tidied up in here.

McGonagall broke the silence by clearing her throat and saying, “I’ve got some essays to grade. I’ll leave you two—” (she nodded at Lupin and Dumbledore) “—to discuss the issue of defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” And she beat a dignified but hasty exit.

Harry turned towards the two remaining adults. “So?”

“We’re all doing research,” Dumbledore said uncomfortably. “We’re close to a breath-through, I think. We should be back in a week—two at the latest, or maybe three or four—with some spells for you to start trying out.”

“Yeah,” Lupin added quickly, “and in the meantime, if you feel like doing any research of your own…”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah… I could get Hermione to help.”

“Great idea!” Lupin said with a little too much enthusiasm. “She’s the smartest witch of her age—she’s bound to find something.”

“Awesome,” Harry said. “So… you all do research, and I’ll try to get Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville to do some research, too.”

“Great,” Dumbledore said. “And you’ll be doing research of your own?”

“No, I’m focusing on the other assignment you gave me,” Harry said.

“Infiltrating Malfoy’s Gay Straight Alliance?” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. “How is that going?”

“Amazing!” Harry blurted out, suddenly aware that he should have dialed back his enthusiasm. “I mean, really great. We’ve infiltrated the club, and now I’m getting close to Draco. I think I’ll crack his motives sooner or later.”

“Good boy,” Dumbledore said, patting him on the shoulder. “Well… get to it! Get closer to Master Malfoy, and put your friends on research.”

“Sure thing,” Harry said. “And… since they’re going to be doing research for us, can they start coming to Order meetings?”

“They’re much too young,” Dumbledore said, squeezing Harry’s shoulder once more before letting go. “You’re only here because—”

“Because I have to defeat Voldemort, yeah,” Harry finished with a sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

*****

As usual, Harry and his friends held their post-Order meeting in the Room of Requirement at 7:00. He gave them a quick rundown of the day, starting with his next step towards seducing Draco and ending with the non-eventful order meeting.

“So what do you think?” he asked them when he’d finished his summary.

“So you taught Draco some of your training moves?” Ron said, frowning at him. “As in, you showed him some of your strategies?”

“No, no, no,” Harry said quickly, “it was nothing like that. I just let him throw spells at me, then I disarmed him. It was an excuse to get on top of him without my shirt on, see?”

The others frowned and nodded. Luna then giggled a little and said, “I wouldn’t’ve minded seeing that. Harry, can you take off your shirt and show us what it was like, pinning Draco to the ground?”

“Careful, Luna,” Ron warned. “He actually will, now that he’s got a good body.” Harry waved a dismissive hand at Ron’s jibe, but he blushed a little, knowing it was true. He hadn’t fancied himself an exhibitionist at all, but that was before he’d started working out.

“Good work, Harry,” Hermione said appreciatively. “Yes, it was a bit risky, letting him see you in action, and maybe you could have done things differently, but it sounds like you’re making real strides in seducing him.”

“I am,” Harry said proudly. “Just a little bit more, and I’ll have him spilling his secrets.” He was ashamed at just how close he’d come to saying  _spilling his seed_ instead.

“And where did this happen again?” Neville asked. “You showing his your moves, I mean.”

“Just—just some empty classroom,” Harry said uncomfortably. He hadn’t told Draco they were going into the Room of Requirement, so for all Draco knew, it _was_ an abandoned classroom, but he knew his friends would not be happy if he told the truth. “Some empty classroom on the third floor.”

His friends bought it, and Harry quickly changed the subject to the Order meeting. “So… what do you think about Dumbledore’s proposal? Hermione, are you ready to spearhead a research team?”

“Always, Harry,” Hermione said. “I wish we had more leads to build off of, but you know I’m excited.”

“And did you ask Dumbledore if we could join future Order meetings?” Ron butted in.

“Like clockwork,” Harry said. “I ask, and he says no—every goddamn time.”

“Harry’s more likely to  _actually_ fuck Draco before that happens,” Luna observed, to the chuckles of the others.

Harry faked a laugh, but to himself he said with dead seriousness: _That’s the idea_.


	8. Coked Up and Straight-Acting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockhart is going to try his best to seduce Harry. Is there any reason that Harry would go along with this?

**CHAPTER EIGHT: Coked Up And Straight-Acting**

As they approached the next Gay Straight Alliance meeting, though, Harry had to admit to himself that he was getting impatient. It had been a week since he and Draco had kissed for the first time, and they’d met up twice since then. Why wasn’t Draco going for more?

When he voiced this concern to Ron during a study hour on Tuesday, Ron just laughed. “You’re impatient over one week? It took me months to work up the courage to ask out Hermione.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Harry sighed. “When you put it like that.”

“Sounds to me like you’re making pretty good progress,” Ron said. “Just… don’t go showing him any more secret passages or fight moves.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised bashfully.

And he was mollified for a moment. He  _had_ kissed Draco already, hadn’t he? He  _was_ making progress, and soon it would go even further. It was all okay.

But he also had a sneaking feeling that Draco was trying to avoid him. It had been a week since they’d kissed, dammit, and running into each other just twice was not a lot. Draco made no effort to talk to him in the Great Hall, even when Harry caught his eye. They shared NEWT Potions and Transfigurations, too, but Draco kept to his side of the room and didn’t so much as look at Harry.

If he were to be honest with himself, it made Harry feel a little small and insecure.  He was a stunningly handsome young wizard with a lot of money and a good personality to boot! Draco should be all over him. At the very least, he should be sidling up to him in class more often to strike up conversations and engage in flirtatious banter.

He didn’t say that to Ron, though. His friends didn’t need to know how much he craved Draco’s attention.

It was with a mix of apprehension and hope that Harry arrived at the Gay Straight Alliance meeting that night. The room was mostly full by 7:00—not as crammed as the party last week, but definitely more populated than the first meeting—maybe twenty to twenty-five students in total. Harry spied Terry and Colin giggling next to each other but trying not to touch either other too much in public. Next to them, Seamus was chatting up Luna and Ginny, who had arrived together just moments before Harry.

However, his gaze immediately sought out Draco, who was at the opposite end of the room making sure the refreshments were just right. Measuring his steps carefully so as not to seem too eager, Harry moved towards the cute Slytherin.

Draco turned around, and their eyes met. The Slytherin flashed Harry a quick smile, and for a moment Harry’s heart leapt and his limbs felt weightless. But then Draco looked away again, not even bothering with a greeting.

_Damn it_ , Harry sighed to himself.  _I really want to talk to him again!_ Trying to squash another sudden wave of insecurity, he boldly closed the gap between the two of them.

“Hiya, Draco,” he said with all the casualness in the world.

“Excuse me, Harry,” Draco said, ducking his head and shooting him another coy smile. “I’ve got to get the meeting started.”

And he brushed past Harry, his fingers grazing the Gryffindor’s ribs.

“Wait!” Harry said, unable to keep his cool.

Draco stopped for a moment. “What? Oh… the refreshments? Yeah, they’re good to go.”

“No, not that—” But it was too late. Draco glided away from Harry and into the center of the room.

Draco set off a few emerald firecrackers from his wand, bringing silence to the room. Ron zipped noiselessly over to the refreshments table so he could load up on food before the meeting started. Everyone else took a seat in the chairs that ringed the study lounge, then waited patiently for Draco to speak.

“Welcome to the third meeting of the Hogwarts Gay Straight Alliance,” Draco said. “Glad to see some of you stuck around, even without a party.”

“The party was pretty wicked,” Seamus said excitedly, “but I’ve never thought to learn about gay witches and wizards!”

Draco actually smiled, though Hermione smiled even more. “Good for you, Finnegan. Glad you came—there’s a lot to learn.”

“Yeah,” Seamus said. “I mean, I should be clear—I’ve never really thought about gay wizards, but, well… I have thought a little bit about gay witches before.” The room was silent for a moment before he added, “Actually, more than just a little bit.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Next week’s lesson is on the Sapphic history of ancient Grecian witches and their matriarchal dominion. You’ll love it. But  _this_ week we’re going to learn about the pioneering transgender sorcerers of First Millennium Scotland and the magic they created to help them live authentic lives.”

“Oooh, is this about the Transformation Potion, colloquially known as T?” Hermione piped up, bouncing a little bit in her seat.

For neither the first nor last time, Draco glared at her. “ _Thank you_ for the spoiler, Granger. Would you care to teach the lesson in my place?”

Hermione opened her mouth, clearly about to blurt out  _yes_ , but then she realized Draco was being sarcastic, and she wilted a little.

Draco looked imperiously around the room. “Any other comments before I begin the lesson?”

Terry thrust a timid hand into the air. Draco nodded at him to speak, neither smiling nor frowning at the delay.

“Hi, guys,” Terry said, quickly getting to his feet. “I… I just needed to say this really quick. I… didn’t tell the truth during the first meeting. I’m… I’m not straight. I’m gay. Sorry for not being honest.”

While Draco nodded appreciatively as Terry came out, he became visibly uncomfortable at the Ravenclaw’s apology, and he determinedly avoided Harry’s gaze. “Thank you, Terry,” he said formally, composing himself. “Thank you for sharing with us.”

Colin popped to his feet and chirped, “I’m gay, too! You probably didn’t notice, but me and Terry were making out during the party.”

The room harrumphed a little bit at Colin’s naiveté, but Luna plastered on a politely distant expression and brazenly lied, “Oh! We didn’t see you. We never would have guessed.”

Colin and Terry both blushed a little, but they held each other’s hands proudly. “We’re gay,” Terry said, “and we’re going on our first date next Hogsmeade weekend.”

Draco gave some other words of encouragement to the two of them, but Harry sensed a little bit of shame lingering in the Slytherin’s demeanor. He felt it, too. Gryffindors were the ones who were supposed to be honest the first, not Ravenclaws. If anyone should have come out, it should have been Harry. Or  _someone_ brave like him—goddammit, surely he didn’t have to take the lead on  _everything?_

He tried to catch Draco’s eye, but it would not be caught. Draco plunged into his lesson, focusing fully on his audience and not on the boy who had been trying to seduce him all week. When the lesson was over, everyone mingled and chatted, and yet Draco engaged all his club members except Harry.

Then the meeting was over, and Draco swiftly cleaned up and disappeared before he and Harry could be left alone.

*****

 Gilderoy Lockhart was up at 5:00am on Wednesday morning.

To be clear, he wasn’t an early riser. He loved to snuggle stark naked between the satin sheets of his California king bed and sleep in until 3:00 in the afternoon. Sometimes he’d lazily masturbate around noon, then fall asleep again as the cum dried on his shaven chest.

No, Gilderoy was up at 5:00am because he hadn’t gone to sleep yet. Yesterday evening he had to edit a large portion of his book, so he had mixed a strong concoction of Pygmy Puff tears, Mugwort, and pure caffeine. The potion was so potent that all he could do for the next four hours was focus on revision and proofreading. Then he finished what he needed to do, and he was wide awake at midnight.

So he sneaked out to a Muggle gay club in London, popped some MDMA, danced his arse off for a couple hours, snorted a line of coke off a muscle man’s dick in the bathroom, then took it rawdog with his face smashed against a urinal cake. Then he Apparated before the guy could ask for his phone number. Everyone in the club was so far gone on drugs and liquor that he could Apparate whenever he wanted, and come morning time the Muggles would think they were just hallucinating when they saw him vanish into thin air.

Gilderoy was not sleepy in the slightest. The potion he’d mixed earlier was still going strong. Unfortunately, though, his high was muddled with a weird bit of a crash from the cocaine, so when he got back to his house he rummaged around in his dresser and found another baggy to keep the buzz going.

Periodically dipping his wand into the dime bag and sniffing coke off the tip, Gilderoy got ready for the day. First he sat on the toilet and gently loosened his bowels, allowing the residual globs of semen to whiff out of his ass. It was a hell of a lot more than he was expecting, and he wondered if maybe one or two other guys had joined in without him noticing.

Once his ass was all clean, he put on his best low-cut underwear, a clean, white button-up, a pair of crisp lavender trousers with a matching vest, and his fancy golden filigree robes. Then he spent fifteen minutes styling his hair, thirty minutes applying makeup, and a last few seconds spraying cologne over every part of his body. He needed to be at his hottest today.

Today he was going to have sex with Harry Potter.

*****

Harry Potter, meanwhile, took his usual morning run around the lake, then lifted weights in the Quidditch locker room. After thoroughly exhausting himself, he took a quick shower, stroking at his own muscles under the hot water and playing a little bit with his semi-erection.

It was a few minutes to 8:00 as he took the path from the Quidditch pitch to the castle, gym bag slung over his shoulder, shivering a little in the cool morning air. It had felt fine when he was running, but now that he was all done (and with wet hair, no less!), he could feel that autumn really had arrived.

As he approached the stone steps leading up to the Hogwarts entrance hall, Harry spied a figure leaning languidly against the double doors—a man, doing nothing but standing and waiting. His face was turned to the ground, so all Harry saw was his lustrous blonde hair and his finely-shaped frame. The man was dressed sharply in golden robes, which opened to expose a bold lavender outfit underneath, finished off with brown leather boots. Everything about the ensemble was tight and form-fitting, and Harry found his chest tightening a little with excitement.

He knew he was supposed to be focusing on Draco right now, but Draco kept blowing him off anyway. Harry would be damned if he didn’t at least take a glance! This man looked hella fine, and his clothes were hella gay. Maybe he’d be down for a quickie… not that Harry would actually go through with it, but he really needed the validation right now! Maybe just a little flirting, or maybe a squeeze at that fine ass. Then maybe he could lead the man into the Great Hall so that Draco could run across them and see Harry flirting with someone else. Just a little something to make Malfoy jealous!

Harry took a step towards the man and opened his mouth to say something flirtatious, but then the man looked up, and Harry immediately changed his mind as his heart dropped into his stomach.

It was Gilderoy Lockhart, grinning toothily and winking at him. The former professor’s blue eyes were open wider than Harry thought eyes could possibly go, and the pupils almost filled the entire iris. “Why, hello there!... Harry Potter,” Lockhart crooned at him, parting his plump lips so his tongue could dart out to lick them suggestively.

Harry immediately felt disgusted with himself for feeling attracted to Lockhart’s body. Of course he hadn’t known who it was, but he still felt like he’d defiled his very own soul. His limbs locked up and his body went stiff as he replied coldly, “Hello, professor… um, I mean… hello, Lockhart.”

Lockhart pushed himself away from the door and ran his hands suggestively down his chest, parting his golden robes even further in the process. “It’s been so long, Harry,” he said breathlessly, his fingers coming to rest at the hem of his lavender trousers. “ _Too_ long, in fact. Look at you—you’re all grown up now. And how!” He tilted his head downwards and looked at Harry through hooded eyelids. “Do you work out?”

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. “I  _just_ came back from working out, you twat. What else do you think I was doing outside at this time of morning?”

“I can tell,” Lockhart said, breathing heavily and ignoring the epithet. “You’ve really filled out.” He emphasized his words by holding out his hands and grasping at the air in front of him, as if he was squeezing an invisible ass.

“I know I have,” Harry returned. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for class.”

He started up the stone steps, but Lockhart moved forward to block him. “Not so quick!” he insisted, holding out a hand to place against Harry’s chest.

“Really, professor,” Harry insisted, pushing the hand away. “I mean, really, Lockhart. I need to get back to my dorm.”

“Back to your dorm, eh?” Lockhart said, wiggling his eyebrows and placing his other hand on Harry’s chest. “That sounds perfect! Let me come with you.”

“I’d  _really_ rather you not,” Harry replied pointedly, skirting around the overeager ex-professor. He once again had to push Lockhart’s hand away.

“That’s what they all say,” Lockhart pressed, completely undeterred. As suddenly as Harry had pushed his hand away, it had found its way back to Harry’s ribs, while his other hand tickled as his waistline. “But in the end, they  _love_ getting it on with a masculine, straight-acting mature guy like me.”

“Good God, do you have three hands?” Harry cried, squirming away so he could pull open the double doors and step into the entrance hall. He was glad the cold didn’t follow him in, but unfortunately Lockhart did, his golden robes billowing after him.

“So tell me, Harry,” the older man continued, “Do you work out in those clothes? Those are some cute shorts and tank top you’ve got going on. I’ll bet they just  _cling_ to your sweaty skin as you run around the lake. Does the filmy material on your tank top dip into every crevice of your chiseled abs? Or do you exercise shirtless? Sweet fucking Merlin, I get so  _hot_ , imagining you working out!”

Harry took the steps two at a time, but that didn’t deter Lockhart at all. Even more disconcerting, Lockhart was able to skip each step while simultaneously pulling out a dime baggy of white powder so he could sniff some of it off the tip of his wand.

“Want some, Harry?” Lockhart offered, holding out the bag. “It’s called cocaine. It’s a really cool thing that Muggles invented.”

This actually did shock Harry enough to stop him in his tracks. Lockhart almost ran into him, but the ex-professor was surprisingly agile, dodging around his former student and then circling him on the staircase. Skipping up and down a couple steps didn’t seem to faze Lockhart in the slightest, and all of his attention was devoted to leering at Harry.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “I  _know_ what cocaine is, Lockhart, and why the  _hell_ do you have some on you? It’s hella illegal!”

“Not in the Wizarding world, it isn’t!” Lockhart trilled, taking another bump off the tip of his wand. Maybe he was just extraordinarily handsy, but Harry could swear Lockhart managed to do this while simultaneously feeling up Harry with both hands. “Wizards have no idea what it is.”

Harry muscled past Lockhart, elbowing him in the chest in his effort to continue climbing the staircase. Lockhart didn’t lose his balance. In fact, Lockhart didn’t even spill a speck of cocaine, even though he was in the middle of taking a third helping.

“Really, Harry,” Lockhart continued, “you should try it! It makes sex feel  _so good_ .”

Lockhart took a giant sniff, shivered delightfully as the cocaine pulsed through his system. Then he took an agile leap and pinned Harry against the wall at the top of the landing, their bodies pressed against each other and their faces just an inch apart.

For Harry, it would have been no problem to get out of this situation. He was ready to grab Lockhart by the arm, duck around him, and throw the ex-professor bodily down the staircase. In fact, his fingers were flexing, longingly and excitedly, in preparation for just that.

But then in that same instance he spied someone turning the corner of the second-floor hallway they were in. It was Draco Malfoy. So Harry smirked to himself and did nothing as Lockhart writhed against him, his erection pulsing eagerly through the lavender twill. Let’s see how the Slytherin reacted when someone else was giving Harry proper attention!

Lockhart parted his lips and whispered, his breath fluttering across Harry’s lips: “Imagine, Harry… me and you, right now, in your bed. Imagine taking a quick sniff of cocaine to get your heart pumping and your blood racing, and then imagine my hands over your sweet,  _delicious_ body.” Here he actually placed a hand against Harry’s chest again so he could cop a feel of the boy’s strong muscles and solid frame. “I slip off your shirt and pull off those pesky shorts, and then I draw you in for a kiss and show you how a  _real_ man makes love!”

Harry could see Draco out of the corner of his eye. It took the Slytherin only a second to see what was going on, and his pale face turned red with shock and anger. Marching swiftly down the hall, he cried out, “Gilderoy Lockhart!”

The ex-professor jumped at the sound of his name and immediately took several steps away from Harry. He spun around wildly for half a second before he spotted Draco. “Phew, my boy, it’s just you!” he sighed. “Not a teacher.”

“What are you doing to Harry?” Draco demanded, one hand on his hip and the other drawing his wand.

“Just having a quick chat,” Lockhart said breezily. He drew his wand, too, but only to dip yet another bump of cocaine.

“Well, don’t,” Draco snarled. “Harry doesn’t want it.”

“Actually, Malfoy,” Harry said coolly, “I’m just fine with it, thanks. Now do you mind giving us a moment while Lockhart and I finish up here?”

“Yeah, Draco,” Lockhart said cheerily, perking up when Harry took his side. “Just give me a few minutes, maybe half an hour.”

Draco snarled and glared at the two of them. “Lockhart?” he ground out. “Come with me…  _NOW!”_

With this command, he lunged forward and grabbed his old professor by the wrist, dragging him down the hall and away from Harry. The Gryffindor boy watched them go, smirking at Draco’s display of jealousy.

Sure, Lockhart was a sleazeball, but he had served his purpose. Draco  _did_ care about Harry—the boy was just playing hard to get. Harry felt validated once more.  _And_ he felt bolder than ever.

*****

Draco took Lockhart to an empty study lounge down the hall and threw him in, slamming the door behind them.

“What the HELL are you doing here, Lockhart?” he cried.

“Just catching up with an old student of mine,” Lockhart replied cheerily.

“Stay away from Harry!” Draco snarled. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you don’t belong here, and you  _certainly_ shouldn’t be hitting on students!”

“Oh come now, Draco,” Lockhart tutted at him. “I’m just doing your dad a favor. We’re on the same side here! I’m just here to get a few secrets out of the boy.”

“ _Don’t_ presume we are allies, Lockhart!” Draco snapped. “We are not. And you can buzz the hell off and stay away from Hogwarts.  _I’m_ doing the work here.  _I’m_ getting secrets from Harry.  _You’re_ just going to fuck things up. Also, you’re creepy and old.”

Lockhart lowered his gaze and fluttered his eyelashes at Draco. “Feisty, aren’t we? You remind me of a cute little twink I used to make love to back when I was in Romania fighting ghouls. That boy  _loved_ the way I manhandled him.” He took yet another helping of cocaine and added with a flip of the wrist, “But of course he did—all the twinks love a straight-acting guy like me.”

He offered the baggy to Draco. “Want some?”

Draco took the dime bag of cocaine. “Don’t mind if I do.” He ladled a small portion of the powder onto his wand, took an expert snort, then repeated the process for the other nostril. Then he turned the bag upside down and dumped the rest on the floor. “Now get the fuck out.”

“Hey!” Lockhart cried. “You dumped out all my coke!”

“Then steal some more from my mom’s medicine cabinet—I don’t give a fuck!” Draco snarled.

Lockhart pouted at Draco and scuffed at the floor with his boot. “You’re being very naughty, you know. You’re being a very,  _very_ bad boy.”

“Well, I can get  _way_ worse,” Draco promised him.

“So you ought to be punished—”

“Way, WAY worse!” Draco snarled. “So scram. And don’t you dare talk to Harry on your way out! Now get the hell out of my sight!”

He pushed a protesting Lockhart out of the room, locking the door behind him.

The lounge had a fireplace, so Draco marched directly over to it and found a mostly-empty jar of Floo powder on the mantle. He threw the entire pot into the fireplace, and it shattered in a burst of emerald flames. Draco’s nose flared in satisfaction as the ceramic shards clattered against the bricks, and then he stuck his head into the emerald flames and cried, “Malfoy Manor, Father’s Study!”

With a whirl of green flames and a rush of blurry landscapes and living rooms, Draco found himself looking out at his father’s study. Thankfully, his father was there now. He looked up from a pile of paperwork when his fireplace flared up in green flames.

Lucius Malfoy sighed when he saw his son’s head in the fire. “I really don’t have time, Draco,” he said.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna keep this brief,” Draco spat out. “Keep Lockhart away from Hogwarts.  _I’m_ the one doing work here.  _I’m_ the one who’s going to get secrets out of Harry Potter.”

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Not that I care, but did he really try to seduce Harry? He really  _is_ a bundle of flaming faggotry.”

“How about you shut up with that word already,” Draco suggested coldly, “and  _make sure_ Lockhart doesn’t show his slimy face around here again.”

Draco pulled his head back—out of his father’s office, back through a whirlwind of green flames and blurry scenes, and out of the study lounge fireplace. He bounced to his feet, shaking ashes from his blonde locks and smoothing the wrinkles from his school robes. Maybe the cocaine in his system had something to do with it, but he felt more alive than he’d felt in a long time. And he was still mad as hell.

He marched out of the room and into the hallway, where he was glad to find Harry still waiting at the top of the staircase. He closed the gap between them in mere seconds, and he pushed Harry up against the wall and drew him in for a long, bruising kiss.

Harry responded eagerly, grabbing roughly at the Slytherin’s hair and pulling his face aside so he could kiss hungrily at the boy’s pale jawline. Draco moaned and ran his hands down Harry’s neck and over his shoulders, squeezing at the broad muscles and stroking the bulging biceps.

“Harry James Potter,” he moaned, both breathless and insistent, “stay away from that creep.”

Harry broke the kiss just long enough to draw away and look Draco up and down, a twinkle dancing in his green eyes and a wry smile playing across his lips. “I didn’t know you cared,” he said.

Draco cursed himself for letting his feelings get the best of him, but at the same time he was a little high on cocaine and adrenaline, so he drew Harry in for another kiss, pressing Harry against the wall and running his hands hungrily down the Gryffindor’s chest and along his stomach. He didn’t care about his plot right now: all he wanted was to claim every inch of Harry Potter’s skin as his own. All he wanted was for Harry to feel he belonged to Draco. Throwing caution to the wind, he allowed a hand to slip lower, grasping Harry’s throbbing erection through his exercise shorts.

At that moment, though, they heard a group of Ravenclaw girls giggling and gossiping just around the corner, so they broke quickly apart. Harry arranged his gym bag to hide his massive hardon. Draco stared him down for a long second, his gaze burning into Harry’s as he whispered, “You  _know_ what I want to do to you right now, Harry Potter.”

He skirted past Harry and took the steps down to the Great Hall two at a time. Harry watched him go, panting heavily and clutching at his chest as his heart soared. He truly had Draco within his grasp! Now it was time to reel him in.

*****

**A/N:** I guess I should reiterate my initial warning about drug use? Oh well, if so, I should have actually done it last chapter, so it’s a bit late for all of that. Just keep referring back to the warning at the beginning of the story—it’s pretty inclusive. :)

Thanks to all of you who have been reading along so far! Don’t forget to leave a review!


	9. High on Plumleaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry decides to take his seduction plot a bold step forward and meet up with Draco at night. But a little recreation with his Gryffindor dormmates threatens to derail his plans.

**CHAPTER NINE: High on Plumleaf**

After the run-in with Gilderoy Lockhart on Wednesday morning, Harry could tell Draco was trying to regain his cool. In NEWT Potions, Harry caught his eye as he entered the classroom. Draco looked away quickly, but he blushed and had to force back a smile. Then when they passed in the halls later that afternoon, Harry grabbed his attention again. Unfortunately it was between classes and the halls were full, so Harry couldn’t push Draco bodily against the wall and snog him, but he _did_ brush against the Slytherin boy for a moment, causing Draco’s face to flush with a tinge of crimson.

Harry’s self-esteem had come roaring back, and though Draco was acting much the same as he did during the first half of the week, Harry knew he’d captivated him. Draco really  _did_ want to fuck Harry, and maybe more. Maybe Draco was actually developing feelings, too!

It was time to make an even bolder move. So on Friday morning at breakfast, when Harry saw Draco leave the Great Hall will Crabbe and Goyle, he excused himself from his friends group. “Sorry,” he said, realizing he was in the middle of interrupting Hermione’s ramblings about Muggle metaphysics and its possible relation to magic. “I gotta catch a snake.”

And he half-skipped, half-sprinted after Malfoy, ignoring Hermione’s huffy sigh. He caught up with the Slytherin trio just outside the Great Hall, ignoring Crabbe and Goyle as he said, “Malfoy, could I have a word with you?”

Draco looked up at him, a little taken aback at the interruption. “Um… what is it, Potter?”

“I…” Harry stared pointedly at Crabbe and Goyle, trying not to glare at the moronic duo.

“Oh!” Draco said, getting the hint. “Crabbe, Goyle, give us a moment.”

“To do what?” Crabbe asked. Neither he nor Goyle made a move to leave.

“ _Excuse_ us,” Draco hissed. If Harry had the manners not to glare, Draco possessed no such qualms.

“Excuse you?” Goyle said. “What did you do?”

“Go to class!” Draco snapped. “Go ahead without me. I can find my way there—I’m not fucking stupid like you.”

The two Slytherins, still not entirely comprehending the insult, shuffled off, and Draco turned to give his undivided attention to Harry. He waited without speaking.

“Draco…” Harry said, trying to still his fast-beating heart. “Draco, I want to see you tonight.”

Draco was unnaturally still, as if he was trying hard not to betray his emotions. “You want to see me tonight?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Meet me outside your dorm at midnight?”

“Why?” Draco asked.

“Just meet me there,” Harry said firmly, flashing a quick smile. He wanted to keep this simple; besides, he didn’t trust his reasoning abilities when he was so turned on by the idea of a midnight meetup with Draco.

In fact, that’s how the conversation ended. Draco didn’t reply, but he inclined his head just so, and Harry took that as a nod. The Gryffindor bounced on the balls of his feet, flashed Draco a quick smile, and then impulsively leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. And then, blushing a little, he scooted off to class.

*****

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a blur, though it was a slow, impatient type of blur. Class trickled by like treacle, the teachers’ voices drones and their lessons incomprehensible. By the end of the day, Harry honestly couldn’t even tell if they had had a quiz or test… at least, not until dinner when Ron was showing off the O he’d gotten on their Transfiguration pop quiz.

“This is my third in a row!” he crowed proudly.

“ _Another_ O?” Hermione purred, setting down her goblet to stroke his shoulder. “Looks like somebody’s been working hard!”

“Yeah,” Ron said, leaning into her touch with a luxurious grin.

“You know what happens to boys who get O’s on their quizzes, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ron said throatily, closing his eyes as one of Hermione’s hands stroked his ribs while the other tangled its fingers in his ginger hair.

Ginny coughed and clanged her fork against her dish. “Jesus fuck, Ron,” she huffed. “Why don’t you just pull it out and let her suck it here on the table?” She turned to Luna, Harry, and Neville and shook her head. “Sweet Merlin, I’d rather Snape truss me up naked and violently lick my nipples than continue watching this.”

“Eurgh,” Neville shuddered. “Ginny, do you really have to? I know it’s hyperbole, but damn… that’s just disgusting.”

Luna stared Ginny down, as if she was actually imagining the picture Ginny had just painted. “You might be wrong, Neville,” she disagreed amiably. “I really wouldn’t mind if Snape nibbled at Ginny’s areolas.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Oof, Luna, don’t encourage her.”

Then, because Hermione and Ron actually were starting to get slobbery, Harry leaned over, his mouth just inches away from theirs, and said, “You’re missing the conversation. Ginny’s talking about Snape licking her nipples.”

Ron and Hermione broke apart quickly at this intrusion, both glaring at him. “Harry James Potter,” Hermione snapped, “I was really starting to get into that! Give me one good reason I shouldn’t hex you right now!”

“Because I’m meeting up with Draco tonight,” Harry proclaimed proudly. “At midnight. I think tonight’s the night!”

“The night you do what?” Ron asked.

The question caught Harry way off guard, because he almost replied,  _The night I fuck Draco’s brains out!_ But that was all wrong—they didn’t need to know how much he was looking forward to that!

“The night… the night I finally seduce Draco and coax his secrets out of him,” Harry said, knowing he didn’t sound nearly as excited as he felt about his real plans.

“Phew, for a moment there I thought you were actually planning on fucking that bastard,” Ron chuckled, his accidental intuition uncanny in its accuracy. Neville and Hermione laughed, too. Ginny giggled, but also blushed and grinned strangely as if she was envisioning it. Luna, once again with her wide-eyed stare and her half-parted lips, was  _definitely_ envisioning it.

Harry avoided everyone’s gaze and worked quickly to finish his meal. Afterwards, he gave his leave, explaining that he needed to get ready for his seduction tonight.

“But it’s not even 8:00 yet!” Ron said. “How could it take you four hours to get ready?”

“It just will!” Harry snapped. “Everything’s gotta be perfect.” He gave his excuse while standing up and walking away at the same time, knowing he couldn’t ramble much longer to fend off their questions. Ron even opened his mouth to continue taking the mickey out of his best friend, but Harry quickened his pace and was soon out of the Great Hall.

As much as he was looking forward to seducing Draco, he was also terribly nervous. Objectively, Harry knew himself to be hot—he worked out, he had muscles, he had deep, soulful green eyes, and he had tousled black hair any man would want to run his fingers through. To top it all off, Harry truly had a good personality.  _And_ money. What wasn’t to like? Would  _wouldn’t_ fall for Harry Potter?

None of that could quell his nerves. He might very well have sex for the first time tonight with Draco Malfoy. Aside from growing up with his own parents, or never having to worry about Voldemort, or having his godfather back, or not having had to grow up with the Dursleys, Harry had never wanted anything more. This mattered so much to him, and it shocked him to his core. He really,  _really_ wanted to make love to Draco Malfoy.

Not just fuck.

He got ready. He showered. He brushed and flossed his teeth. He put on his best black briefs, then he switched them out for his midnight blue squarecut briefs. He changed his trousers twice and his shirt thrice, ending with a demur, casual sort of outfit that was nevertheless strikingly form-fitting. Black cotton trousers and a slim green t-shirt to bring out his eyes. Artfully messy hair, first mussed up with water and his fingers, but then held together with a last-minute addition of hair gel. The most delicate touch of eyeliner and mascara (which he totally  _Accio’d_ from Hermione’s dormitory), once again to bring out his eyes. A generous handful of after-dinner mints, chewed and sucked at throughout the course of his primping. And a spritz or three of Monsieur Malkin’s Sexbomb cologne.

Then he practiced his moves in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. He parted his lips and moistened them with his tongue. He fluttered his eyelids, but not too fast. He unconsciously-but-consciously stroked his chest.

Then one long, deep, extended breath, let out with a whoosh, and he finally felt ready.

So he strode out of his dorm, feeling sexy but nervous, with his head held high. Down the spiral staircase he descended, where he found the Common Room was full of students planning out ways to enjoy their Friday night. According to the clock in the corner, though, it was barely 9:00. He had three hours.

“Goddamn it,” Harry muttered, wondering how the hell he could kill three hours. He thought of going back up to his room and getting a homework assignment out of the way, but then Seamus and Dean caught his eye, and they waved Harry over.

“Hiya, Harry!” Seamus said. “Got any plans for tonight yet?”

“Yeah, sorta,” Harry muttered.

“Like what?”

Harry shuffled his feet and continued talking like he hadn’t been asked the question. “But not until later. What’re you all up to?”

Seamus and Dean cast a quick look around the room and then motioned Harry to follow them into a corner near the spiral staircase leading to the boy’s dorm. Then Seamus pulled a pottery jar out of his schoolbag and lifted the lid. “Plumleaf!” Seamus whispered excitedly.

“Plumleaf?” Harry said, scratching his head in confusion.

“It’s a fine powder that’s extracted from the leaf of the Dirigible plum.” All three of the boys whipped around to see that these words had come from Hermione. Seamus and Dean jumped in fright, and Seamus tried to hastily shove the jar back in his bag.

Hermione laughed at them. “Calm down, Seamus. I may be a prefect, but I’m not against responsible drug use. Tell me the side effects and the correct dosage, and I won’t confiscate it.”

Seamus shuffled his feet and said, “Well… the Dirigible plum is said to elevate the frame of mind so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary. While this has been treated as a myth, a group of potion makers based out of KnockturnAlley recently discovered that the leaf of the plum could be dried and ground into powder, forming a potent psychotropic drug. For an effective dose, moisten your finger and take a single generous dab and rub it along the bottom of your tongue. There are no physical side effects, and it’s impossible to overdose on, but the mental side effects are strong. It produces feelings of euphoria and confidence. The comedown is a bit of a bummer, though.”

“I’m impressed,” Hermione said, and she clearly meant it. “And I won’t confiscate it… but you’ll have to share with me and Ron.”

“I was just about to offer some,” Seamus said, grinning widely.

So Hermione waved Ron over to join them, then motioned at Ginny, who was sitting by the fire with Luna, and they all traipsed up to the 6th Year’s boy’s dormitory to take the plumleaf. There they were joined by Neville, who had just come back from the library and was tossing his schoolbooks into his trunk.

They all sat cross-legged in a circle on Ron’s bed (due to Hermione’s frequent visits, it was the cleanest, and its silencing charm hadn’t fully worn off since the year began). Seamus demonstrated by going first and taking a generous dab of the plumleaf. He then placed his powder-coated finger under his tongue, clamped his lips around it, and took a deep breath. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled in a long, happy sigh.

“Me next!” Dean crowed, bouncing up and down on the bed. So Seamus handed him the pot full of plumleaf, and Dean took his own generous fingerful.

“Ron and Hermione,” Luna said as Dean handed the pot over to Ginny, “there’s a huge stain on this duvet. Which one of you is this from?” She leaned down to sniff it.

“Luna!” Ginny yelped. “It’s bad enough Ron and I shared my mom’s vagina. I’d rather not hear anything about the others he’s been in.” She shook her head and took a dainty dab of the white powder.

“Take more than that,” Seamus advised. Ginny was more than happy to comply.

“It smells like a mix of the two of them,” Luna continued, her cheek still pressed to the bedsheets. Ginny nearly dropped the jar, but Ron steadied her hand just in time and took it away from her. He and Hermione both blushed, but it looked like they were enjoying Ginny’s embarrassment too much to stop the conversation. Luna looked up at the two of them and declared, “I must say, you two smell quite nice.”

“If you want,” Hermione said primly, “I can show you a douching charm I use that doesn’t upset the delicate pH balance down there.”

“Maybe,” Luna said vaguely, suddenly a little quieter. She switched from being cross-legged to sitting on her knees, her thighs pressed together.

“I’d like to learn that charm,” Ginny said.

“Hey?” Harry said as Ron passed the jar to Hermione. “I’m, uh, honored that you feel comfortable enough with us to discuss your, uh….. but could you not?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You fought Voldemort five times. Don’t tell me you have a delicate constitution!” She took an even more generous dab of powder than Seamus or Dean and confidently stuck her finger into her mouth.

“No no,  _I_ don’t have a delicate constitution,” Harry argued swiftly. “I’m just, uh, concerned about how everyone else is taking it.”

“Mate,” Ron laughed, “I’m  _want_ to know everything I can about Hermione’s vagina. I can’t let these silencing charms go to waste.”

“Yeah,” Seamus said, his eyes glazing over a little, “I don’t mind hearing about Ron and Hermione’s sex life, either.”

“Dude, you’re not even high yet!” Harry scoffed. “That’s disgusting!”

Hermione passed the jar to Neville. “I vigorously disagree,” she said. “Sex is natural and beautiful, and we shouldn’t be ashamed to talk about it. Though the details shouldn’t be shared with  _everyone_ , mind!” She leveled a penetrating stare at Seamus, but then softened up and added, “Maybe when we’re all a little less sober.”

Neville took a dab and passed the jar to Harry.

“You’re last, mate,” Dean said. “Take a big hit for all of us.”

So Harry moistened his index finger and dipped it into the jar, pressing the pad of his fingerprint into the white powder. It was surprisingly soft, yet with an edge to it, as if it once had been a lamb’s ear that couldn’t decide if it wanted to become a cactus. He lifted his finger from the jar, and as he passed it to his mouth it glinted with a load of powder even larger than Hermione’s.

Then he placed his finger underneath his tongue and let the plumleaf absorb into his saliva. It tasted extraordinarily sweet, but not sickly so. It was like a rich plum tart made with heavy whipping cream. His green eyes bugged open and rolled around in his head, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a moan of pleasure. “Goddamn!” he breathed. “Did none of you bother to mention how good this tastes?”

“Does it?” Seamus said, getting excited. “Does it taste like a rich plum tart made with heavy whipping cream?”

Harry nodded, impressed by how spot-on the Irish boy was.

“Wow,” Dean breathed. “I’m so jealous!”

“What?” Harry said. “Doesn’t it taste the same for the rest of you?”

“No,” Neville said. “It just tasted like a cheap Pixy Stix to me.”

“When taken as a psychotropic drug,” Hermione explained, “the plumleaf has a much stronger effect on certain witches and wizards than it does on others. Since plumleaf is still such a new extract, there’s no proper explanation, but potions masters generally agree it has something to do with the different types of magic that flow through each of us. For those it affects stronger than other, the powder tastes far richer and sweeter, almost as if you’re eating the plum itself.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Sound intense. Good thing I’m brave.”

“You’ll be fine,” Seamus said. “In fact, you’ll be more than fine—you’ll feel fucking fantastic! However strongly you feel it, though, remember what I said: this drug is impossible to overdose on. Just embrace it.”

“Okay,” Harry said cautiously. “But I don’t feel anything yet.”

“Of course you don’t,” Seamus said. “It takes about 30 minutes to hit you.”

So they all sat tight for a little while. Luna dished up a bunch of Ravenclaw gossip for the benefit of the rest of them, and she rated every girl in her house on a scale of how easy or hard it would be to get in their pants. Seamus, Dean, and Neville hung on to her every word.

Hermione got bored and reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a book. Ginny cocked her head and said, “Is that the book I lent you?”

Hermione held it up, and indeed it was:  _The Science of Ancient Celtic Rituals: A Metaphysical Journey_ .

“Good, isn’t it?” Ginny said.

“Surprisingly astute,” Hermione agreed, “considering Muggles’ usual ideas of magic. So good, in fact, that I actually went to Professor Burbage to propose that we do a Muggle Studies field trip to see the author speak on the subject.”

“Oh?” Ginny said, perking up.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Hermione sighed. “She lives in America so we couldn’t take the students to see her.”

“So bring her here.”

“We’d have to spend money to fly her out,” Hermione said, “and she’s weirdly protective of her dad and won’t travel anywhere without him. So Professor Burbage proposed a budget to fly the two of them out to Britain and set up a conference somewhere in London, but Dumbledore nixed it.”

They went back to talking about the book itself, and Harry followed the conversation off and on as he waited to get high. It was a sort of complicated topic about the possibility that ancient Celtic magic might be a real phenomenon, able to be studied using the scientific method. Harry was about to open his mouth and ask if they could integrate it into the research that Dumbledore had assigned them, but then he suddenly felt a twinge rush through his body.

He looked up and breathed, “Hey guys, did you feel that?”

“It’s been hitting me for the past five minutes,” Seamus said excitedly. “But it’s just the beginning!”

“I’m going to tell my dad about this,” Luna said. “The dirigible plum is already his favorite fruit, but he’s never tried plumleaf before!”

“Dude, he’d love it,” Dean said fervently.

“Yeah, he eats a dirigible plum every day,” Luna said. “He goes outside and picks one from our plum tree every morning.”

“Maybe he could make plumleaf himself!” Sean said, getting even more excited. “Luna, this could be an excellent business model for your dad!”

“He could use the extra money,” Luna agreed. “He’s been trying to hire a new graphic designer for  _The Quibbler_ for ages.”

“What, does the current designer lay out too many of the pages right side up?” Hermione said with a wry grin.

“I mean, that’s simplifying things,” Luna said, “but pretty much.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her conversation with Ginny. It got way too complicated for Harry to follow, so he sat back for a moment and let the plumleaf take over his system.

The first twinge had been pretty delightful—a warm rush that started in his head and pulsed through his entire body, ending at his extremities. But the ones that followed afterwards hit him harder and harder. Like contractions, they started a couple minutes apart, but then became closer together, and soon he was experiencing them every half-minute on the dot. His body warmed up. His brain warmed up. His face lit up, and his eyes lit up.

Still clean from the shower, still dressed in his form-fitting outfit, and still subtly made up, Harry suddenly felt extremely sexy. He ran his hands down his torso, from throat to waistline, and let out a little sigh.

“Heya,” he said suddenly, bouncing from his cross-legged position to sitting on his knees. “Ron, Hermione. How do I look?”

He knew he was interrupting Hermione and Ginny’s conversation, but he felt it was somehow all right. They would like his conversation better, anyway.

“Good enough to make me want to work out with you,” Ron said honestly. “But I love sleeping in too much.”

“No, I mean,” Harry said, “If you were Draco, would you want to fuck me? Would you go weak in the knees? Would you want to grind your ass against my cock?”

Ginny looked Harry up and down and said, “Honestly? I’d do that to you now, whether or not I was Draco.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, her brown eyes dilated way wider than Harry had seen before. “If you were a stranger instead of our best friend,” she said, “Ron and I would probably invite you into our bed for a threesome.”

Somewhere in the back of Harry’s head he sensed that this should be an uncomfortable thing to hear, but then he felt another spasm rush through his body, and he took the compliment with aplomb. “Thanks, Hermione!” he said brightly.

Seamus dove headfirst into the conversation, figuratively and almost literally, too. “Am I enough of a stranger for you to extend that invitation?” he asked eagerly. “I’m really good at using my tongue!”

Far from being grossed out by this intrusion, Ron and Hermione sized him up. “You’re a bit bro-ish for my tastes,” Ron said honestly. “I like ‘em sleek and femme. Anyway, I have only one hole for you to lick.”

“That’s okay, I do buttholes, too,” Seamus said. “If you trimmed real good, I’d give your hole one minute of face-time for every four minutes of face-time I gave Hermione… Hmm, every five minutes, let’s say.”

Again, Harry sensed that the conversation was weird, but he also didn’t care. He was feeling warmer and warmer by the second, and he was of the mind that he could do anything or talk about anything.

But for the moment he just listened. As Seamus tried to rationally haggle a threesome out of an unusually open-minded Ron and Hermione, Dean turned to Ginny. “Hey, Ginny,” he said with no trace of nervousness, “we should have sex.”

“Oh Dean,” Ginny said, swatting at his shoulder with a giggle. “You know we only said we were together to gross Ron out.”

“True,” Dean said, “but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t still like to fuck you.”

Ginny blushed a little, but mostly she looked proud as she ran a confident hand over her breast. “Why thank you, Dean,” she said. “But I also heard that you have a mighty large dick, and I worry if it might tear me apart.”

“Who told you I have a large dick?” Dean said, his chest puffing up with pride.

“Lavender,” Ginny replied. “She said you damn near split her apart. She was walking bow-legged for a week.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “Yeah, when I pulled out, there  _was_ some blood on my dick.”

“That’s because she was on her period,” Ginny explained.

“Phew,” Dean said. “I thought I’d torn something down there, and I was feeling guilty because the blood turned me on so much.” He put a pensive hand to his chin and added, “I guess I have a period fetish.”

“Oh, I can help you out with that,” Ginny said excitedly. “I know the cycles of all the girls in the Gryffindor dormitory. Within a month of school starting, each year syncs up with itself. The Fifth Year girls start their periods next week, the Sixth Year strikes like clockwork on the 15th of every month, and the Seventh Year girls hit their periods every 29 days, the next day being on the 29th of October.”

“So that means they’re still having their periods now?” Dean squealed, bouncing up and down in the bed.

“Yeah, but they’re halfway through already,” Ginny said. “Their flow is chunky and dark now, and Katie Bell’s has pretty much stopped.

“Oh,” Dean said, deflating a little. “And what about the girls from the other houses?”

“I don’t know about them, sorry,” Ginny said with an apologetic shrug. “We could team up with Luna and try to find out.”

But before they could do that, Seamus announced loudly, “Hey guys, guess what I got?”

“What, are you done trying to coax your way into a threesome with my best friends?” Harry asked.

“We’re going to continue negotiations at a later date,” Seamus said optimistically, while Ron and Hermione laughed benevolently at him. “But enough of that now.”

He pulled open the curtains and skipped over to the foot of his bed, where he threw open his trunk and pulled out a fleshy blob. When Harry looked closer, he realized it was Madame Pomfrey’s hyperrealistic vagina model. “I knicked this from the hospital wing!”

“Wicked!” Dean cheered. “Now we can practice our moves!”

“Eww, those models revolted me,” Harry said honestly. “Have fun.”

“Can—can you make it get its period?” Dean asked, reaching out to prod the vagina.

“I can try,” Seamus said, poking at it with his wand. The vagina pulsated and became engorged. Its labia parted like petals, revealing its clitoris.

“Whenever did you go to Madame Pomfrey for the sex talk?” Hermione asked Harry, quite curious.

“Last year,” Harry lied. “I was thinking of having sex with Cho.”

“Were you?” Ron asked, far more astute than he normally was. “You never mentioned it. I didn’t realize you two had gotten that serious.”

“I was just thinking ahead,” Harry said evasively, “in case we actually did end up doing it.”

“But you don’t think ahead  _that_ much,” Hermione countered. “At least, not with sex. No offense or anything. I can see you going to Madame Pomfrey to learn sex spells if you absolutely knew you were about to have sex, but before then, I don’t think it would cross your mind.”

“Well, it did,” Harry said uncomfortably.

He was relieved when Dean let out another cheer. “You did it!” he cried, and indeed he was right: the vagina model was now bleeding heavily, splattering on the floor and coating his and Seamus’s hands with slick, red fluid. “Damn, this is sexy! Do you mind if I have a go at it first?”

“Sure thing!” Seamus said. “Just leave the butthole for me. I wanna try out my anal moves.”

“Awesome.” Dean took the drippy, messy model onto his bed and drew the curtains. “See you all in a bit!” came his muffled cry, followed by: “ _Silencio!”_

“Thank fuck he remembered a Silencing charm,” Ron sighed.

“It’s common courtesy,” Hermione agreed. “We use it without fail.”

“And yet somehow you forget to use one when you’re  _fucking talking about it all the time!”_ Ginny sighed.

“Sex is natural and beautiful,” Hermione repeated. “I see no reason to censor myself.”

“Well, and no offense,” Ginny said, “I think I’ma creep over to Neville’s bed just in case you two start waxing lyrical again.”

She hopped off of Ron’s bed and over to Neville’s, and Luna followed after her. Neville and Harry were going to stay with Ron and Hermione, but then Harry noticed that Ron’s fingers were playing with the hem of Hermione’s shirt. Hermione giggled into Ron’s neck and leaned into his fingers.

So Harry rolled his eyes and motioned to Neville for them to jump off the bed, and no sooner than they had done so, Ron drew the curtains.

The plumleaf was really hitting Harry now. His chest felt light as air, and his whole body filled with a warm, dry heat—fierce but extraordinarily pleasant. He primped at his hair for half a second and thought about meeting Draco later that night. His heart leapt: he couldn’t wait.

He sat cross-legged on Neville’s bed, silently anticipating his midnight tryst. Ginny was continuing her complicated conversation about the metaphysics of magic. Neville and Luna listened closely, though it seemed Luna was less paying attention to the words and more intently staring at Ginny.

A few minutes later, Dean burst forth from his bed curtains, a wide grin plastered across his face. “That was fucking intense!” he gushed, holding out the vagina model.

“Really?” Seamus said excitedly. “I’ve gotta try that sometime. But right now I really wanna do anal.”

“Have a go at it, then!” Dean encouraged him. He held out the model, and Seamus took it eagerly.

“Thanks,” Seamus said. “Lemme just…” he turned the model vagina-down and gave it a vigorous shake, accompanied by a hefty smack on the rear end. “...Empty this bitch out!”

A large glob of Dean’s blood-clotted semen spurted through the labia and fell to the floor with a sickening  _plop_ .

“Sweet fucking Merlin!” Neville wailed. “Do you  _have_ to get that all over our carpet?”

“What?” Seamus said. “It’s not like  _we_ have to clean it up.” He gave the ass another slap, and the vagina let forth another blob, this time more blood than semen.

“Yuck,” Neville said emphatically. “Yuck, yuck, yuck!”

Seamus turned the model right side up again and placed his fingers on either side of the labia so that he could draw it part and peer inside. “Looks like your baby batter is mostly gone,” he said to Dean. “Just… a little… more.” He turned the model upside down and poked at it with his wand. A last little bit of blood and semen zipped out, and the simulated period flow slowed to a drip. One more poke, and the crusted blood disappeared from the vagina, leaving it clean and moist.

“I,” Neville said, wrinkling his nose, “am going on a walk. Harry, care to join me?”

“Sure,” Harry said.

“Want us to join you?” Ginny asked.

“Nah, you two stay here,” Neville said. “Mess around on my bed or something.”

“Okay,” Luna agreed easily.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come along?” Ginny asked.

“You two stay here,” Neville repeated. “It’s fine… I’m calling in the favor you owe me for that hangover globe. Stay here and enjoy yourselves.”

“Fair enough,” Ginny said. “Have a fun walk. And Luna?” She drew the curtains around Neville’s bed, blocking out the sight of Seamus plumping up the model’s ass. “We don’t need to see all that.”

“Good call,” Luna said.

They sat in silence for a moment, the two of them cross-legged on Neville’s golden bedsheets, their toes almost tickling each other. Luna played with the crimson trim near Neville’s pillow and said, “So what were you saying about magic?”

“Well,” Ginny said, “In the book Hermione and I were reading, Alma del Mar says—(Alma del Mar is the author, by the way)—”

“Yes,” Luna said, indicating the aside was already a given.

“Anyway, Alma del Mar focuses specifically on ancient Celtic rituals, which have over the years gained more of a prominence in Muggle culture than our modern use of magic. Del Mar speculates that these magical rituals were more than just myths and legends passed down from generation to generation: she wonders if they actually happened, and she explores the idea that there may be a scientific explanation to it all.”

“But she’s wrong,” Luna said, “it  _is_ just magic.”

“That got me thinking, though,” Ginny said. “What if magic  _is_ a physically explainable phenomenon? What if Muggles discovered it and started practicing it? They can already fly. They invented computers, which are damn near close to magic in my book.”

“That’s pretty deep,” Luna whispered, her eyes wide.

“Sorry,” Ginny said, suddenly self-conscious. “This is probably way too much for when we’re high.”

“No, it’s okay,” Luna said. “I like listening to you talk.”

“Yeah?” Ginny said.

“Yeah,” Luna nodded. “And maybe I’m feeling confident right now because of the plumleaf, or maybe I’m just drawing inspiration from the female crumple-horned snorkacks, but I just wanna say I  _really_ like listening to you talk. And looking at you. Also, you were a very good kisser at the party the other week.”

“Thanks, you too,” Ginny said. Normally this conversation would have her hunching her shoulders a little bit, feeling shy and uncomfortable, but the plumleaf was having its effect on her, too. She remained poised and open, her breasts thrust forward and her gaze trained on Luna’s.

“I want to try it again,” Luna said honestly. “Don’t worry, we don’t have to do nasal like the lesbian snorkacks. But I wanna kiss.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ginny said. “I’m not gay or anything, but you’re an uncommonly good kisser.”

“I’m not gay, either,” Luna said, though not as defensively as Ginny. “I’m just… well, I’m really quite attracted to you.”

She leaned forward and took Ginny’s hands. And then the two of them kissed. Slowly and tentatively at first, feeling out each other’s mouths, and not used to the plumpness of another woman’s lips. Then they deepened the kiss, allowing their tongues to come into play. Ginny reached up hand and stroked Luna’s cheek. Luna trembled at her touch and steadied herself by wrapping an arm around Ginny’s shoulder and pulling her closer.

“This feels good,” Ginny whispered into her ear.

“Yeah,” Luna whispered back, running her hands along Ginny’s back.

“You can feel my boobs, too,” Ginny said encouragingly.

Luna giggled shyly. “I want to,” she admittedly, “but, well… I feel bad, because I don’t want you to feel mine. I… I feel self-conscious about them.”

“That’s okay,” Ginny said. “I want you to feel me up because  _you’d_ enjoy it, not because I’m trying to feel you up in exchange.”

Luna blushed and smiled. “That’s… I really like… you’re a really great…”

Ginny giggled and drew her in for another kiss. Luna melted into the redhead’s arms. And then, after a little bit, she let her hands wander. First along Ginny’s ribs, then just underneath the armpit. Then she dared let her hand caress the slope of Ginny’s sweet breasts. As modest as they were in size, they were ample on her tiny frame. They were plump, yet firm to the touch, and they responded when Luna ran her hands over them.

Ginny responded, too. She broke away from Luna just long enough to let out a little moan, and then she reconnected their kiss, eagerly and insistently.

Luna wondered if it was just the plumleaf that was making Ginny enjoy this so much.  Maybe they were both just high.

If she had bothered to find out more about the drug’s effects from Seamus, though, she would have known this was not the case. Plumleaf didn’t create new feelings. It just removed inhibitions. It set free what was already there.

*****

Harry and Neville left the boy’s dormitory together, but they didn’t stop at the Common Room. Neville led them through the portrait hole and out into the halls of Hogwarts. The sun had set already, and the only light was the moonlight and the torchlight. Whatever they didn’t touch was shadows.

“Needed a break from all that?” Harry said. They began walking down the halls, indiscriminate of the turns they took and only really paying attention to their surroundings for the sake of keeping an ear out for Filch.

“Yeah,” Neville replied with a smile. “Seamus can get way perverted when he’s high, and he  _always_ enables Dean to be the same.”

“And Ron and Hermione, good God,” Harry said. “It’s like they’re attached by the pissers.”

“ _And_ I’m not above doing a little matchmaking with Luna and Ginny,” Neville added, “whatever their deal is. Not sure if they just really like fooling around, or if there’s something more there.”

“Just a lot going on,” Harry nodded. “I’m glad to get away from it.”

“Mmmhm,” Neville agreed. “But that’s not the only reason I took you on a walk.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re going to meet up with Malfoy tonight,” Neville said. “You’re going to seduce him.”

“Yeah, I am,” Harry said. “I have a really good feeling. Tonight’s the night!”

“Tonight’s the night you… seduce him? Discover his motives for starting the Gay Straight Alliance?”

“Spot on.”

Neville tilted his head for a second and flashed Harry a twisted sort of smile. “Yeah. But you’re not going to stop there. I think you’re going to fuck him, too.”

Hearing it said out loud thrilled Harry to no end, particularly because he was still experiencing the plumleaf spasms every half-minute. Each one left him feeling a little warmer and more excited than before. But he also had enough of a presence of mind to deny Neville’s claim. “No, I’m not going to go that far.”

“It’s okay if you do,” Neville said with a shrug. “Just because you despise the git doesn’t mean you need to be above a good, strong hate fuck.”

“It’s not like that…” Harry said, even though it hadstarted out  _exactly_ like that.

“Really, if that’s what it is, I swear I won’t tell anyone,” Neville promised. “Once I jerked off to the thought of fucking Bellatrix Lestrange ragged before strangling her with my bare hands.”

“Oh,” Harry said, a little taken aback. “Okay, then. Thanks for sharing.”

“I probably wouldn’t if I wasn’t on the plumleaf,” Neville said calmly, “but I’ve always wanted to tell someone.”

“But I dated Cho Chang,” Harry said, knowing he couldn’t say with a straight face that he wasn’t attracted to guys.

“Hate fucking doesn’t have to do with sexuality, or with being attracted to someone,” Neville reasonably. “I think Bellatrix Lestrange is fucking hideous. I wouldn’t ever make love to her. But it’s about the control, and it’s about the domination. I just fantasize about wrecking her hole. I fantasize about making her orgasm before I kill her.”

“Okay, but I don’t want to kill Draco,” Harry said.

“So it’s not the exact same situation,” Neville conceded. “All I’m trying to say is, I understand and I don’t judge.”

“Um, thanks,” Harry said.

“Well, that, and also… how high are you right now?”

“Pretty high,” Harry answered. “I feel very warm, very happy. I feel  _so ready_ to seduce Draco.”

“And to fuck him?”

Harry flashed a shy grin. “Yeah,” he finally admittedly. “I’ma fuck him  _good!”_

“But you still have your wits about you?” Neville asked with concern. “This is a big deal. This isn’t just about the hate fuck. You also need to  _seduce_ him.  _That’s_ the main mission.”

“Yeah, I’m still thinking straight,” Harry promised. “I’m high, but I’m not, like, bonkers. I’m not far gone or anything.”

“Good,” Neville. “Then I’m gonna set you loose now.”

“But what about you?” Harry asked as Neville made to step away into the shadows.

“I’m going to the Hufflepuff dormitory,” Neville said. “Eloise’s acne has cleared up, and her chest really filled out, so I’m gonna try to sleep with her tonight. I figured, hell: this plumleaf has my confidence way up. I might as well take advantage of it!”

Then he tripped off, leaving Harry alone.

The warm, wonderful spasms still hadn’t stopped. His high slowly continued to build, and with it his courage and euphoria. He was not nervous. He was ready.

He took the pathway to the Slytherin dormitory. He wasn’t particularly careful about being quiet or looking out for Filch, but he didn’t care. He felt too sure in himself. This night was going to go well.

Soon he stood in front of the stone wall that led to the Slytherin dormitory, and that’s when he realized: he didn’t know the password.  _And_ it was only 11:00. He would have to wait a full hour before Draco came out to meet him.

Then, suddenly and without warning, a massive spasm hit Harry, hard and fast. Incredibly warm and boundless joy shot from his head to his heart, then out to every end of his body. He shuddered and whimpered and felt so unbearably happy he almost started crying.

His whole body was on fire, but in no sort of painful way. It was a beautiful fire, a pleasant, tingly fire.

He put his right hand to his forearm and found the mere touch to be meltingly sensual. He envisioned Draco in his mind and moaned out loud. And then, for a full two minutes, he was locked in place as his body tried to handle the warm, smooth, sexual delirium that descended upon him.

No more spasms hit him. The plumleaf had peaked. But sweet fucking  _Merlin_ , had it peaked! And it didn’t go away. The fire burned within him. The desire filled his chest. His audacity would not be tamed: he  _needed_ to get into the Slytherin dormitory now!

*****

Draco was ready long before the planned midnight tryst. Like Harry, he showered early in the evening, but unlike Harry he felt completely self-assured in picking out his ensemble. He chose a silk button-down shirt, a baby blue pastel with horizontal purple stripes across the chest to broaden his frame. His pants were a simple black cotton, not unlike the ones Harry had chosen. And his hair was perfectly straight and slicked back. He’d been generous with the cologne, but not overly so; nevertheless, an air of lavender and musk hovered around him wherever he went.

At 11:00, he was sat atop the covers of his bed reading a book, keeping his mind off things until it was time to meet Harry outside the dormitory.

Ten minutes past the hour, though, his bed curtains parted unexpectedly, and a voice whispered, “Draco?” The person climbed in through a gap in the curtains near the foot of the bed.

“Who is it?” Draco asked.  _“Harry?”_

He was completely taken aback, but there the Gryffindor boy was, perched at the foot of his bed in a tight green t-shirt and fitted black pants, his hair messed up and his lips parted and the gaze burning brightly in his deep green eyes.

“Hiya, Draco,” Harry said. He sat on his knees, his posture completely assured and his chest thrown forward. He did not break his gaze. But he also did not make a move towards Draco.

“How did you get in?” Draco breathed.

“I just asked the stone wall,” Harry said. “I said,  _Please let me in. I need to see Draco._ And it opened up and let me in.”

Draco frowned. “Surely that’s not right. The entrance doesn’t open just because you ask it to.”

“Well, I  _did_ ask in Parseltongue,” Harry added as an afterthought.

“Oh,” Draco said. “I forgot you spoke that. I didn’t realize that would work.” If he were to be honest, it now turned him on to no end that Harry spoke the language of snakes. He wondered if he could convince Harry to do it while they were fucking.

“Well, it did,” Harry said, “and now I’m here.”

“Unfashionably early, I might add,” Draco said with a grin.

“Couldn’t wait any longer,” Harry admitted, returning the grin. “I’ve really been looking forward to this.”

“You have?”

“Yes, Draco,” Harry said. He did not elaborate, but his eyes told the story. He moved towards Draco and then stopped, waiting to see the Slytherin’s reaction. All Draco did was shift in bed, opening up his legs ever so slightly.

So Harry move towards him at a crawl, still so self-assured, and still not breaking his gaze. Draco still did not speak, but once again opened his legs a little wider. As Harry drew level with him, he ran his hands briefly along Draco’s shins, from the ankles to just below the knees, and then they were face to face, Harry’s lips hovering inches from Draco’s.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” Harry whispered.

“To kiss me?” Draco asked, his voice just above a whisper, but still soft. “You’ve already done that.”

“ _More_ than that,” Harry corrected him. He was sat on his knees again, his legs keeping Draco’s propped open. “I’ve wanted much, much  _more_ than that.”

Draco blushed and smiled. He cast a quick glance at the curtains, making sure they were closed, and then he reached for his wand next to him.  _“Silencio,”_ he whispered, and the curtains glowed briefly for a second. “Go on,” he said coyly.

Harry leaned forward and placed a brief, heartfelt kiss on Draco’s lips. Then he broke away and leaned into Draco’s ear.

“All year I’ve wanted you. I’ve wanted to run my hands over you. I’ve wanted to feel every inch of your body, from your cute blond head to your toes. I’ve wanted to run my hands along your chest and down your back. I’ve wanted to feel the slope of your sweet, firm ass in my hands. I’ve wanted to kiss you: on the lips, on the neck, along the chest and down your stomach.

“I’ve wanted to grab you around the waist, roughly, insistently, to kiss you, to bite you. To fuck you.”

For a moment Harry allowed himself to fall silent. Draco wanted to speak, but he didn’t. He wanted more to hear what Harry had to say. The boy’s words were hypnotic. His naked lust was obvious and deeply irresistible. And his eyes, sweet Merlin, his eyes! How green that fire! How deeply they pierced him!

Harry crossed his arms and grasped the hem of his green t-shirt. Then, in a single move, long and languid, he peeled it off of him. Draco watched, his mouth falling open, as the thin fabric slipped up Harry’s tight abs and over the curve of his chest, catching for the briefest of moments on his nipples, before clearing his neck and coming off over his mess of jet black hair.

Then Harry was kissing him again, this time deeper and more passionately. Their lips bruised together and their tongues wrapped around one another. Harry’s hands grasped Draco’s ribs near the chest, and Draco’s own fingers reached out to stroke the bare skin just below Harry’s throat.

They sunk back into the pillows, and Harry’s hands followed the contours of Draco’s body, running down to his waistline and taking a hold of his hips. Draco responded to Harry’s touch with a moan, and he arched his back so his chest pressed against Harry’s naked torso.

He could already feel Harry’s fierce erection pressing against his upper thigh. He whimpered, longing for Harry to fuck him. And Harry, hearing the whimper, ground against him, breaking apart their kiss just long enough for him to grin at the Slytherin boy.

“ _This_ is what I’ve wanted,” Harry whispered, kissing Draco between sentences. “More than anything, for you to want it back. For you to  _want me to fuck you_ .”

His words were so fierce, but so quiet. Like he was afraid to say them, but he’d longed to set them free. Less hesitant was his body. His hands did not keep themselves from holding Draco tightly against him. His lips did not hesitate to leave Draco’s lips and nibble at his neck. His bare chest did not wish to unglue itself from Draco. And when it did, it was only so that Harry’s fingers could slip in to undo the buttons on Draco’s shirt.

Then it was bare skin against bare skin, lips against lips, and then Harry’s mouth against the smooth, pale skin at the top of Draco’s chest. Harry let go of Draco’s sides so that their fingers could entwine amongst the pillows, but his mouth did not stop in its downward trajectory. His tongue did not cease to trace its path down Draco’s stomach, and his soft moans could not be contained by Draco’s sweet, milky skin.

Then Draco’s name fluttered on Harry’s lips, just above Draco’s waistline. “Draco,” Harry whispered, the words hot against the skin between Draco’s belt and stomach. “Draco.”

“Harry,” Draco whispered back.

His hands hooked around Draco’s waistline and tracing the bones along his hips, Harry lifted his face back up to Draco’s for another deep kiss.

“Draco,” Harry said, “Draco. I want what you want.”

His hands left Draco’s waistline and wandered across the boy’s bare chest, then back down to the waistline against, where they settled along the curves of the boy’s ass.

“Draco? I really care about you.”

They looked each other in the eyes, full on, and then suddenly Draco realized.

Harry’s eyes were enormous. The pupils were massive, dwarfed only by the bright green irises that seemed to swallow the whites.

“Harry?” Draco whispered. “Are you okay?”

Harry’s face broke apart as if he were laughing, but no sound came out. Only an unarmed grin and a twinkle in his saucer-wide eyes. “Never better, Draco.”

The uncanny thing was,  _never better_ was no expression. Harry actually meant it.

“Harry?” Draco said, this time no longer whispering. “Are you high?”

Harry tucked his face into his shoulder bashfully, flashing a grin at Draco through his bare chest. “C’mon, Draco,” he said. “ _Am I high?_ I’m Harry, that’s who I am.”

Draco scooched himself up so that he was in a proper sitting position. He backed away so that their faces were apart, even though Harry’s hands still ran along his chest and stomach. “You’re high, Harry,” he said, no longer a question. “You’re really, really high.”

Harry giggled and leaned down to kiss Draco’s chest. “Maybe a little,” he conceded.

“Maybe a lot,” Draco said, gently tugging Harry’s face away from his left nipple. “Harry, you’re in no condition to be… to be doing this.”

“Sssh,” Harry said. “Draco, I really want this.”

Draco believed Harry was telling the truth. Draco believed Harry wanted to sleep with him. Draco believed Harry would do this very same thing if he were sober. And holy sweet Merlin, did Draco want to do the same and more!

But not like this.

He didn’t know why he cared, and he didn’t know why he’d sprouted this moral compass, but he couldn’t let their first time come when Harry couldn’t properly remember it.

Collecting himself, and ignoring his own raging erection, Draco began buttoning his shirt again.

“What’re you doing?” Harry asked.

“You’re unbelievably high,” Draco replied.

Harry paused for a moment, processing Draco’s words. Then he nodded and said, “Yes. Yes, Draco, I am unbelievably high. But that’s not a bad thing. I feel wonderful.”

“I’m sure you do,” Draco said, “but that’s not the point.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“The point is you’re too high to know what you’re doing.”

“I disagree,” Harry disagreed. “This is  _exactly_ what I want to be doing. Being high just makes me want to do it more. It frees me. It lets me say what I really mean. It lets me  _do_ what I really mean.”

He took a hold of Draco’s hands and looked the Slytherin boy straight in the eye. “This is no game for me, Draco,” he said clearly. “I really want this. I really want for you to want this.”

Both at once, Draco felt guilty and terrified. Not terrified at Harry—in fact, the complete opposite. For once, Harry didn’t scare him at all. What scared him was that he  _knew_ Harry was telling the truth. It was no longer a game. Harry truly wanted him. Harry truly cared about this. To Harry, this was no seduction plot. To Harry, this was real.

Even scarier than that, though, was that Draco realized this and did  _not_ see this as a moment to take advantage of the boy. Draco felt guilty for his own seduction plot. He knew he had to go through with it still, but he couldn’t do it, not like this. He couldn’t so easily take advantage of a boy so out of his mind. Especially not a boy as good as Harry.

Draco sighed, his whole body shuddering. Still hard, he steeled his willpower and found Harry’s t-shirt. Despite the boy’s protests, he worked the green fabric back over the boy’s messy hair, down his neck, along his broad chest, catching on the nipples again, and down his washboard abs.

“I’m not going to take advantage of you, Harry,” Draco said plainly.

“You aren’t, though!” Harry insisted. “ _I’ll_ do the fucking.”

“Don’t think, Harry,” Draco said, “that just because I’d bottom doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be taking advantage of you.”

Making sure his own shirt was completely buttoned, he drew back the curtains and got out of bed, taking Harry firmly by the arm. “You’re going back to your own dorm now,” he said firmly. “Come to me when you’re sober.”

Then he marched Harry out of the Slytherin Sixth Year dorm, through the Common Room, and out through the stone wall entrance.

He kissed the dark-haired boy once, briefly but fiercely, his face sad and his chest falling. “You’re a good guy, Harry,” he said with a flash of Gryffindor honesty.

Then he retreated to his dormitory, disappointed and confused and scared.

Harry wanted to do more than fuck him. Harry was actually, truly falling for him. He didn’t know what to do with this. It would be one thing if he didn’t care—if he still hated Harry and wanted to hurt him.

But he didn’t.

If he were to be honest with himself, he was falling, too.


	10. Keeping Secrets and Not Keeping Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry recollects what happened the night before. He's afraid to tell his friends the truth, but he has to tell SOMEONE, right?

**CHAPTER TEN: Keeping Secrets and Not Keeping Secrets**

Physically, Harry was fine when he woke up the next morning. His body felt perfectly rested, and he got out of bed feeling like he’d slept in just the right amount: enough to make him feel snuggly and luxurious, but not so much that he felt sluggish and sleep-logged.

Mentally, though, he felt like shit. Though he could not immediately recall his night last night, he felt bad for no reason. His heart had sunken in his chest. His shoulders were hunched. His brow automatically furrowed, and his lip turned downward in a pout. He felt straight-up bummed out.

He slipped out of bed, still not fully sure how he’d ended back in his dorm at the end of the night. He was fully dressed, however, so he took that for granted as he searched around for his wand. He found it a moment later on his bedside table, where he normally put it, and he sighed and gave his body a little shake. Time to get rid of those doldrums.

At that moment, a Patronus glided into the room in the form of a tabby cat. “Harry,” it said, “Don’t forget we have training in 15 minutes.”

“Shit!” Harry muttered out loud. He’d totally forgotten that he and McGonagall had set up their Animagus training for this Saturday at 10:00. He’d have to skip breakfast.

Still swearing to himself, he went to put on his shoes, only to find they’d been on his feet all night. So all he did was slip on a robe and hurry to Professor McGonagall’s office.

She was waiting for him with a smile on her face and a cup of tea in her hands. She offered him the tea, and he took it gratefully, glad to have something in his stomach since he apparently missed out on Draco’s semen.

Oh shit! That’s what he was supposed to do last night!—meet up with Draco. And he hadn’t. Goddamnit. He wasn’t sure what happened, though… all he remembered was cleaning and dressing himself up, getting together with his friends in the dorm to take the plumleaf, and then a few minutes after 8:00, everything was blank.

“Are you ready?” McGonagall asked. Harry shook himself and turned his attention towards his professor.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling out his wand. “So how do we do this?”

“You can start by putting that away,” she said, nodding at Harry’s wand. “You won’t be needing that. Being an Animagus is not about waving your wand and muttering an incantation. It’s about something deeper: it’s about tapping into the core of your very magic and finding an entire other part of your being.”

It went without saying: Harry was intrigued and excited. Despite the side effects of the plumleaf, he felt his old well of curiosity spring within him, as familiar as a long-lost buddy. “I’m ready,” he said, slipping his wand back into his holster and then rubbing his hands eagerly together. “How do we do this?”

“First let me set the mood,” McGonagall said, and with a wave of her wand she dimmed the sconces in her office. Their flames took on a calming, bluish hue.

She Conjured a soft mat onto the middle of the floor, and they sat cross-legged, facing each other. “We are going to do an exercise concentrated on helping you find your form,” McGonagall told Harry. “First you need to clear your mind. If you’re good at Occlumency, this will be easy.”

“I suck at Occlumency,” Harry said honestly.

McGonagall glared at him. “Divest yourself of that attitude,” she instructed, attempting herself to divest of the reprimanding tone. “Forget Snape’s abysmal teachings, forget that I mentioned Occlumency. Just close your eyes and think of the blue torchlight above you.”

So Harry closed his eyes and pictured the sconces in his mind. Funnily enough, it helped that his short-term memory was still shot from the plumleaf. It allowed him to put aside the recent past and focus on the present. He sank into the fuzziness that was still his brain. Fuzziness and blue light.

“Are you picturing the blue light in your mind? Now let them fade. Let them fade to black, and sink into the darkness.”

Easy enough. Now it was just fuzziness. Harry took a deep breath, and when he exhaled even the fuzziness began to fade. Now it was nothing. Now he was floating.

In a violent shock, a figure lashed through the darkness, hissing and spitting, its scales flashing and its teeth sparkling. Harry jerked backwards, nearly toppling over, and his eyes flew open.

Professor McGonagall stared at him. “That quick, Potter?” she marveled.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“You saw your Animagus form!” McGonagall said. “I could sense it. Good gracious, Potter, you  _are_ precocious. It takes most people hours, or sometimes days.”

“I-I guess I found my form, then?” Harry replied, breathing heavily. “Wh-what was it?”

“Close your eyes again, and clear your mind once more,” McGonagall instructed. “Do you mind if I use Legilimency on you?”

“Go ahead,” Harry said. Taking a few calming breaths, he closed his eye and cleared his mind again. It took him longer than before, but eventually he had sunk back into the fuzzy nothingness.

_“Legilimens,”_ he heard McGonagall whisper, her voice far away from his consciousness. Her presence brushed against his mind, inquisitive but never intrusive. She was an observer, not an invader.

And then the figure lashed out at him again, coiled and angry, spitting venom and fury.

Both their eyes snapped open again, and McGonagall goggled at Harry. She stared him down, almost disapproving.  _“A snake??”_

*****

“It was pretty much the worst,” Harry told Ron and Hermione a couple hours later as they sat at the lunch table in the Great Hall. Lunch was fading into afternoon tea at this point, and Harry was helping himself to way too many finger foods.

“I mean, it’s not so bad,” Hermione said lamely. “So what if a snake is synonymous with Slytherin? That’s not how it is the whole world through.”

“C’mon, Hermione,” Ron said, “a snake is pretty damn Slytherin.”

“And we’re not talking about the whole world through, either,” Harry added. “We’re talking about here in Hogwarts, in a lesson with fucking McGonagall. She hates Slytherin. She hates snakes.”

Hermione patted his hand in sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she cooed. “Was the whole lesson shot?”

"No,” Harry admitted, reluctant to end his whining. “She got over it in a minute, and we continued. We went over theory for _hours_ , and then she gave me a hell of a lot of reading to do.”

“Good thing you only sleep four hours a night anyway,” Ron said, his lips quivering.

“Ugh, like I want to be spending the wee hours of the morning reading books,” Harry groused. “I should spend it fu—”

He stopped himself and nearly clapped a hand to his own mouth. He had almost said  _fucking Draco_ . Holy shit, that was close!

“Well, I’ll help you study,” Hermione offered. “I’ve been meaning to read up on Animagus theory anyway.”

“No, Hermione,” Harry countered, “I want you doing research on how to defeat Voldemort. Where have you gotten with that?”

“It’s a bit of a broad topic, to be honest,” Hermione admitted. “But right now I’m in a particularly promising part about ancient Celtic rituals.”

This triggered Harry’s memory, and suddenly part of last night came back to him. He remembered when the high was first starting to build that Ginny and Hermione were talking about Celtic magic and something to do with the physical properties of magic.

“Celtic rituals?” Harry said slowly. “Is this related to that book Ginny was reading for Muggle Studies?”

“Not really,” Hermione said. “That book was a metaphysical speculation made by a Muggle. A fascinating one, to be sure, but it has no basis in wizarding history. My research is based off of firsthand accounts and compilations by real sorcerers.”

“Hmm,” Harry said. “I mean, I didn’t read the book, but maybe it could have some insight?”

“You are correct, Harry,” Hermione said dryly, “you  _didn’t_ read the book. Just focus on your training and leave the research to me.”

At this moment, Ginny, Luna, and Neville ambled up to the table, all three of them looking mighty pleased.

“Morning, everyone!” Neville said smugly.

“It’s afternoon, Neville,” Ron replied. “How late were you up?”

“Super-duper late,” Neville said, still refusing to get rid of his grin. “What about you?”

“Hermione and I fucked ourselves into a stupor by about midnight,” Ron said.

“Ew, stop!” Ginny cried. “I didn’t need to hear that!”

“By midnight?” Neville said, waving a hand at him. “Pff, amateurs.”

Another piece of the night came back to Harry: Him and Neville, leaving the dorm to have a talk about something serious (what about, again?), and Neville saying he was going off to the Hufflepuff dormitories.

“So,” Harry said, grateful his memory was beginning to serve him again. “Did you succeed in fucking Eloise?”

“Yes.” Neville puffed up his chest and added, “but that’s not all! I took Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones to bed, too!”

Everyone’s jaws flapped open in astonishment. “One right after the other?” Ron breathed in awe.

“No, all at the same time,” Neville said. “It was glorious! Hannah was riding me while Susan sat on my stomach and made out with her, and Eloise sat on my face while I licked her out.”

“No…” Ginny whispered. “Holy shit!”

“You can go into more detail, you know,” Luna suggested.

“I will in a little,” Neville promised, “but first I wanna hear what happened to the rest of you!”

Ginny shrugged. “Seamus and Dean played with that vagina model for far too long. And Luna and I sorta… we were on your bed, Neville, and, uh…”

“We fooled around a little bit,” Luna offered up. “Nothing much, and by now Ginny’s too sober to want to talk about it. But we’re good now, still friends, everything back to normal. The timing’s not right, anyway.”

“Okay, but,” Neville said, “if I give you more detail, I’ll expect you to give it in return.”

“But what about your night, Harry?” Ron interjected. “What happened after you and Neville left the dorm? Surely you didn’t join him in his foursome?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I sure didn’t. But… uh, to be honest, I’m having a hard time remembering everything that happened last night. I just know I woke up feeling like shit.”

“That was the comedown,” Hermione said. “That’s the only negative side effect—that bummed out feeling you get when it fades away.”

“The only negative side effect?” Harry asked. “Then what about my blackout? When I woke up, I couldn’t remember any of the evening; it’s only now coming back to me in bits and pieces.”

The other looked at each other and shrugged, then turned back to Harry. “I remembered everything just fine,” Ron said.

“Me too,” Ginny added.

“Me too,” Luna said.

“And me, thank fuck,” Neville grinned.

Hermione shrugged. “I think you know I’m going to say this, but me too. Harry, it may be that you experienced an extra side effect, since the plumleaf hit you so hard. But you’re saying it’s coming back to you?”

“Bit by bit,” Harry said. “I remember most of the evening up until Neville and I left the dorm.”

Neville waved his hand to coax Harry along. “But your plan for the evening was to seduce Draco.”

“Yeah…”

“Did you succeed in that?”

“Well, I woke up in my own bed,” Harry said slowly, “So I guess not.”

The others deflated with little sighs. Hermione tsked at Harry and said, “You shouldn’t have been so high.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I must’ve just wandered the halls and…”

Then it  _did_ hit him: everything, the whole night. When he’d admitted to Neville that he was going to hate fuck Malfoy. When he got to the Slytherin dorm and let himself in using Parseltongue. When he had no intention to hate fuck Draco, but to fuck-fuck, to make love. When he’d let himself into Draco’s four-poster bed and then tipped his hand. When he let Draco know that he actually cared about him.

It hit him square in the gut. Yet immediately as it came to him, he  _knew_ he could not let his friends know. So he slammed the feeling down and took it all inwardly, his insides emptying as his face remained calm.

Placidly he looked up at his friends as his stomach churned, and he murmured, “I… I think it’s coming back to me. I… I think I just wandered the halls and then went to bed.”

Slowly and smoothly he looked at his watch. “Oh,” he lied matter-of-factly, “it’s almost 2:00. I’m supposed to meet Dumbledore for some extra training.”

He stood up and left, abandoning the two tea sandwiches that had been in his hands. Then he walked out of the Great Hall, his heart racing.

What the fuck possessed him to say what he did? The plumleaf, obviously, but holy shit! Draco knew now that Harry was falling for him. Draco knew Harry cared, and that gave the Slytherin the complete advantage of this situation. There was no way Harry could possibly sneak any secrets out of him now!

Even worse, an insidious thought crept up on Harry: that he no longer wanted to seduce secrets out of Malfoy. He just wanted Draco. He wanted to have Draco, but not as a conquest. He wanted that boy for keeps.

He took a couple of deep, calming breaths, but they did nothing to calm him. On the contrary, they brought him to the verge of hyperventilation. He needed to let this out. He needed to tell someone. But he couldn’t tell Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Luna and Neville. He couldn’t tell his best friends for fear of disappointing them. They’d been counting on him to make this plot work, and he was failing. So he had to tell someone else first—maybe so he could work it out, or maybe just to get it off his chest. But who could he possibly tell?

A few hallways down from the Great Hall, he heard footsteps behind him, and he saw Neville by himself, running to catch up.

“Hey, Harry!” Neville cried. “Wait up!”

Harry slowed his pace, but he didn’t stop entirely. “What is it, Neville?” he said shortly, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

“Harry, what  _really_ happened?” Neville pressed him. “You didn’t just wander the halls and end up in your bed. You know that’s a lie.”

“It’s the truth,” Harry lied. “I got way fucking high, and I meandered around a little while before I got paranoid that Mrs. Norris would find me. So I went back to our dorm.”

“No, you didn’t,” Neville said. “You were going to find Draco and hate fuck him.”

“Yeah, I was,” Harry said evasively, “but I didn’t, okay?”

“But you tried,” Neville said. “You  _did_ try. So what went wrong?”

“You want the truth?” Harry cried, spinning around to face Neville, yet still focusing his gaze on Neville’s chin instead of directly in his eyes. “If you must know, I went to the Slytherin dormitory and waited for two hours, but Draco never came out. I got stood up.”

“Oh,” Neville said, his body slumping. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, scuffing his foot on the floor. “It sorta sucked.”

“But why didn’t you tell the others?”

“Because it’s embarrassing, all right?” Harry said. “I don’t like to throw this card around a lot, but I’m Harry Potter. I’m not exactly the type of person someone stands up.”

“Very true,” Neville conceded. “Maybe Draco’s trying to play you. Maybe it’s time to regroup and restrategize.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah, maybe. We can talk about it after the Order meeting on Sunday, during our normal meeting time.”

“Or we could call an emergency debrief right now, if you want,” Neville offered.

Shaking his head, Harry sighed and turned away from his friend. “No, it’s okay. Debrief during our normal meeting will work just fine.”

*****

Throughout Saturday afternoon and Sunday daytime, Harry kept a close eye on the Marauder’s Map, trying to find a time waylay Draco again. He wasn’t sure what he’d do or what he’d say to overcome his behavior on Friday night. He just knew he wanted to see Draco and talk to him. To say something… anything.

But Draco spent most of the weekend in his dormitory, so the Sunday evening Order meeting arrived without Harry having a chance to run into the Slytherin again. Feeling a little morose, he arrived at Grimmauld Place with Dumbledore, this time a couple minutes early. The kitchen table was mostly full already, though a last few stragglers were slipping in to take their seats.

Harry took a seat next to Lupin. His former professor turned to him with a pleasant, “How’s it going, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

“You guess?” Lupin raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

Harry hesitated for a moment. He wondered if he should go into more detail. Maybe just a little. Maybe he’d say that he was having a bit of a personal problem at school.

But before he could formulate an answer, Arthur Weasley burst into the room with an enormous grin on his face. “Attention!” he cried, clapping his hands together. “Everybody, I have something you all simply  _must_ try!”

The Order members eyed him warily. Snape frowned at McGonagall, who frowned back at him and shrugged. Some of the other members rolled their eyes. Molly Weasley, meanwhile, slunk in after him and quickly found her seat, fighting a blush in her freckly face.

Arthur waved his arms open grandly and announced, “I have just tried cocaine for the first time! It’s simply wonderful! You all will love it.”

Snape cleared his throat and raised a hand in warning. “Arthur? First off, where did you get it? And secondly, I  _really_ don’t think we—”

But it was too late. Arthur clapped his hands, and a very disgruntled Kreacher entered the room, magicking behind him a long row of plastic McDonald’s cups. He floated one to every Order member in the room. Some of them grabbed them instinctively out of the air, while others allowed them to settle on the table in front of them, not daring to pick them up.

“I found it at a Muggle food place!” Arthur cooed proudly. “It’s so sweet and fizzy! It makes my tummy feel bubbly and happy.” He grabbed his own cup out of midair and took a long sip out of the straw.”

“Won’t this stuff kill you?” Elphias Doge said, his voice trembling.

Mundungus Fletcher shrugged and took a sip from his own cup. His face lit up, and he nodded at Arthur in appreciation. “Sweet as hell, but mighty good!” he said.

Arthur turned to Snape and said, “By the way, you were wrong. Muggle kids totally use cocaine! Every single child in the place was taking it. I even saw a baby nursing a cup full of cocaine!”

Harry tried not to laugh as he took a sip of his drink. Instead, he watched as Snape pinched the bridge of his nose in profound exasperation.

“Weasley,” Snape ground out, “When you went into this Muggle food establishment, did you  _ask_ for cocaine?”

“Yes!” Arthur said brightly. “I went in and asked for it, and they gave it to me. It only cost a sickle extra on top of the fatty, greasy meal they served up!”

“No, Weasley,” Snape said, his voice rising, “Did you  _say_ ,  _‘I want cocaine?’ “_ He glared at the redheaded wizard. “Or did you say,  _“I want Coke?’ ”_

“Oh,” Arthur said. “Well, the latter. I was doing my research, and I learned that all the young people call it  _coke_ , so I didn’t want to seem suspicious, calling it by its scientific name. So I played it cool and went out into Muggle London asking for coke, and a lovely gentleman who happened to be homeless pointed me in the direction of McDoddle’s. And so I went in and asked for coke, and I got it! It’s not illegal at all! You really need to do your research, Snape.”

“First off,” Snape snapped, cutting Arthur Weasley off, “It’s  _McDonald’s_ . Secondly,  _cocaine_ is not a scientific name.  _Benzoylmethylecgonine_ is its real scientific name, but let’s not get into the weeds here. Thirdly—oh sweet fucking Merlin—they gave you Coca-Cola!  _Not cocaine!”_

“What?” Arthur said, sipping absently at his Coke. “I don’t understand.”

Snape clenched his fist but somehow retained his calm. “You know when a word is spelled the same but can have more than one meaning? Like  _lie,_ or  _left_ , or  _foot?_ Well,  _coke_ is one of those words. It is short for cocaine, which is the drug I was talking about last week. It is also short for Coca-Cola, which is a carbonated Muggle drink. You got the latter, not the former. And everything I said last week about  _cocaine_ is still accurate. You are just a bleedingly dumb twat.”

Arthur deflated slowly throughout the length of Snape’s diatribe, and by the end he looked quite morose. But then he turned his gaze back down towards his cup, took another sip, and began smiling again.

“It may not be cocaine,” he conceded, “but it’s mighty tasty! I think I’m going to buy more Coke from Muggle food joints.”

“You do that,” Snape said, his voice low with exasperation.

“...and I’ll keep looking for cocaine while I’m at it,” Arthur added happily.

“I really don’t suggest it,” Snape said, echoing his advice from last week. But Arthur was no longer paying attention, and Dumbledore was sending brief Legilimency vibes at Snape, accompanied by an impatient wave of his hand, so the Potions master shut up and allowed the meeting to begin.

Same as the last, this meeting was fruitless. Harry was prepared to take mental notes for the sake of his friends, but after half an hour he realized he needn’t bother. There were no new updates.

Afterwards, Harry stood up and was able to walk over to join Dumbledore, but Lupin stopped him and motioned for him to follow. So Harry stood up and followed Lupin out of the kitchen, and they went off to one of the drawing rooms on the first floor.

“What’s up?” Harry said as they took a seat on one of the old leather couches.

“I just wanted to see if everything was okay,” Lupin said. “It seemed you were about to tell me something before Arthur interrupted us with his,  _ah,_ coke presentation.”

Harry smiled a little, still amused by Arthur’s antics. Then he sighed and said, “I mean, things are okay…” Weighing his words carefully, he added, “Just a little confusing.”

Lupin waited patiently for Harry to continue speaking. Harry shot to his feet and started pacing the floor in front of the couch. His heart beat a little quicker as he contemplated coming clean. Lupin was a safe choice—they already had a camaraderie from his Third Year, and he wasn’t as tremendously worried about disappointing Lupin as he was his best friends or Dumbledore.

Finally Harry opened his mouth and said, “Well, I’m having a little… romantic trouble, I suppose.”

Lupin nodded and waited for Harry to continue.

“I… I think I’m falling for someone, and I shouldn’t really be falling for them.”

“Fraternizing with the enemy?” Lupin said, his lip quivering with amusement.

“Yeah,” Harry said sheepishly. “Well, not the enemy, but a Slytherin. I don’t think I should be falling for a Slytherin.”

“Depends,” Lupin said. “Not all Slytherins are bad. Just ambitious and power-hungry, bless them.”

“This one’s bad, though,” Harry said firmly. “At least… on the wrong side. I think maybe this one might not be as bad as we think… but then I tell myself that I’m probably blinded by my feelings.”

“Being on the wrong side doesn’t make someone bad,” Lupin said fairly. “Sometimes, due to family or circumstance, a person starts out on the wrong side, but then ends up coming to the Light. Look at Snape.”

Harry scoffed. “Snape is pretty bad, though!”

“His personality could use some improvement,” Lupin said, trying not to smile, “but he’s actually a good guy. Deep down, he has good intentions.”

“He should work on showing them more,” Harry said, his lip curling.

“Maybe we should get back on topic,” Lupin suggested calmly. “Tell me what’s so bad about falling for a Slytherin?”

“Well, I…” Harry said, avoiding Lupin’s gaze, “I… the hardest is thing is that I can’t tell my friends.”

“You  _can’t_ tell your friend?” Lupin repeated. “Or  _won’t?”_

“Won’t,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “I just… well, it doesn’t seem like a good idea. I’m afraid they’ll be very disappointed with me.”

“Because you have feelings for a Slytherin?”

“That, to some extent,” Harry said.

“Is it because it’s a specific Slytherin that they particularly hate?” Lupin said shrewdly. “Harry, may I ask you it is you’re falling for?”

And, despite everything Harry had revealed up to this point, he shook his head, finally looking Lupin in the eye. “I’d rather not. Sorry, Profess—erm, Remus.”

Lupin smiled and shook his head in amusement. “All right, I won’t press it. But tell me a little more: What is it you like about this girl?”

A long, awkward silence passed as Harry started pacing again, looking down at the carpet, then up at Remus, then down at the carpet again. He coughed a few times and cleared his throat.

Finally he said, “Uh, um… that’s another little complication. Like not a big deal, I’m sure my friends will be fine with this part, but it might be a little confusing for them.”

“What do you mean?” Lupin said, surprisingly calm despite Harry’s teasy bait.

“Well, uh… I’m not falling for a girl at all,” Harry admitted. “I think I’m falling for a boy.”

Lupin actually had the nerve to chuckle as this! “You  _think_ you’re falling for a boy, Harry?”

“Okay, so I am!” Harry said irritably. “Wait, what—aren’t you surprised or anything?”

“Do you want me to be surprised?” Lupin asked. “Is it bad that I’m not really that surprised?”

Harry blushed at this and stammered, “Uh, no, it’s not bad you’re not surprised… it’s not like it’s shameful for me to like another guy. It’s just different.”

“ _Just different_ ,” Lupin repeated. “I like the way you put that. At its core, it’s neither better nor worse: just different. A lot of wizards don’t see it like that, though. Especially the old Pureblood vanguard.”

“I know,” Harry said, “but what do I care about them? Half of them outright support Voldemort anyway. I don’t need them on my side. I don’t need anyone on my side—just my friends and the people who love me.”

“Your friends  _will_ be on your side,” Lupin promised him. “Hermione and Ron are like a brother and sister to you. Neville and Luna and Ginny have your back, too. You should go ahead and share with them what you’re going through. And if you don’t want to tell them about your forbidden Slytherin love right off the bat, maybe just ease them in by coming out to them.”

“I could…” Harry said hesitantly, “but if I do that, they’ll be immediately suspicious about… well, about the person who I’m falling for. Or not suspicious, but weirded out by the situation… ugh, it’s weird and complicated. It’s just the way everything is now, I’m not sure if it’s best to tell them just yet. Maybe in a month or two when I’ve… moved past this situation?”

“Sounds complicated indeed,” Lupin said, flashing Harry a quick grin. “But do you really think it’s such a good idea to hide from your best friends?”

Harry sighed. “No, of course I don’t. I love them dearly, and I hate keeping secrets from them. It’s just—and this sounds silly, since I’ve fought Voldemort five times and lived to tell the tale—it’s just I’m scared.”

Harry stopped pacing and looked Lupin directly in the eye. “Do you think they might already know?” he asked.

Lupin shrugged. “They might suspect something. Friends always do. There’s a reason they’re your friends.”

“You didn’t seem too surprised when I told you,” Harry said. “Or too concerned, either.”

Lupin smiled and said evenly, “No, I wasn’t very surprised. But I’m good at sensing these things. You see, I myself am gay.”

“Oh,” Harry said, quite taken aback at this sudden confession and the casualness of its delivery. “Hmm, you’ve never told me that before.”

“I never get laid, so there didn’t seem much of a point,” Lupin said, his lip quivering. “It’d be like telling you that I’m an aspiring jazz musician. I can be it all I want, but nothing’s really gonna come of it.”

“Oh come now,” Harry chided him. “Surely you mustn’t have such a hard time with dating! You’re such a sweet guy!”

“It’s very hard in the Wizarding World,” Lupin said. “It’s already a small community as it is, and the gay community is even smaller. Most people don’t want to date me because I’m a werewolf, and literally every gay wizard in Britain already knows this. The last gay in Britain willing to date me had a weird bestiality fetish, and he kept asking me to turn into a werewolf, even though it wasn’t the full moon. He also had a dreadful personality.”

“Well, that sucks,” Harry pouted. “You don’t deserve that at all! Have you thought of dating Muggles?”

Lupin sighed and nodded. “I have. It’s hard, though, going out into the Muggle World and then trying to establish a relationship while both hiding the fact that you’re a wizard  _and_ a werewolf. There’s so many lies to catch me in—what I do for a living, why I’m absent for a few days every month, my entire back story. Nobody wants to build a relationship with someone so secretive.

“Hmm,” Lupin hummed with a sad smile, “I don’t think I’ve been laid in two years. I’ve sort of given up on finding someone, to be honest.”

Harry sat down on the couch next to Lupin and put an arm around his shoulder. “Well, Remus,” he said sagely, “you could always try party drugs and go to a Muggle gay club for anonymous sex. It seems to work for Lockhart.”

“Ugh, don’t mention Lockhart,” Lupin said, flapping his hands in disgust. “He was the guy with the bestiality fetish. And  _please_ don’t ask me why I dated him in the first place—I was at a very low point in my life. Anyway, Harry, I’m not into anonymous sex. Call me old-fashioned, but I’m looking for a relationship.”

“You’ll find it,” Harry promised him. “There’s the perfect man out there, just waiting for you.”

“Honestly, Harry,” Lupin said with a little chuckle, “I don’t even need perfect. At this point, I’ll settle for mediocre but sincere.”

Harry laughed a little, too, but he felt indignant on the behalf of his former professor. Lupin was a perfect guy! Anyone would be lucky to date him. Hell, if Harry was twenty years older,  _he’d_ take Lupin out on a date right now. But they weren’t the same age, and Lupin was Harry’s father’s best friend, not to mention a former professor, so… that was out of the picture.

“You want my honest advice, Harry?” Lupin said, turning his head so they were looking each other eye-to-eye.

Harry nodded, still holding on to Lupin’s shoulders.

“Go after this boy,” Lupin said earnestly. “No matter what your friends think,  _allow_ yourself to fall for this boy. Allow yourself to romance him, to love him. May it be the most torrid and scandalous Hogwarts affair of this generation, but do  _not_ deprive yourself a chance of love.

“I believe your friends truly love you, and when someone truly loves you like that, they  _do_ understand. Maybe they’ll be a little surprised that you like men. Maybe they’ll disapprove of the man you have fallen for. But in the end they will accept you and love you, and they will appreciate your honesty.”

Lupin put his own arm around Harry’s shoulder as well and gave it a firm squeeze. “Go after him, Harry. Take it from me: love does not come along often enough.”

 


	11. Harry Fucks it Up

**A/N:** Oh my god, I’m so sorry for the delay in posting! I swear it’s due entirely to the workload at my job. If I had more time to write, I’d have another five chapters up already. But here I am now, I guess, and I hope this update is enough of a holiday gift.

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: Harry Fucks It Up**

“I still can’t believe Draco stood you up,” Ginny said to Harry as she played with a strand of her fiery red hair. It was Monday morning at breakfast, and Harry and his five best friends were gathered at the Gryffindor table.

“I still can’t believe Lupin is gay,” Ron added.

“Looking back, though, it does make a lot of sense,” Hermione said pensively.

“Let’s not harp on it, now,” Harry said, his voice low. He’d debriefed them on Sunday evening, telling them the version of the story he told Neville. Then, since there’d been nothing to say about the Order meeting, he just told them that Lupin had let slip he was gay, while conveniently omitting anything Harry himself had revealed in the conversation. So they had gossiped about that for a little bit, then regrouped to strategize about Draco.

“He’s obviously playing hard to get,” Neville figured. “Just act like nothing’s wrong, and then go up to him after the Gay Straight Alliance meeting on Tuesday and… suggest you two meet up again… or something.”

They’d been trying to figure this part out: how Harry should ask Draco for a rendezvous in a way that upped the ante. Harry felt bad that his friends were trying so hard when they had all the wrong information, but he just _couldn’t_ tell them how he had behaved. They couldn’t know he was falling for their Slytherin arch-nemesis.

As luck would have it, though, Dumbledore presented them with an excellent opportunity there at breakfast. Just as everyone had settled down with their food, the headmaster stood up and tapped his glass with his fork. He tapped it a little too hard, and it slipped from his hands and into Flitwick’s lap. The little Charms professor squawked in alarm, but Dumbledore ignored him and hastily delved into his announcement.

“Attention, everyone!” he said, his voice carrying throughout the hall. “I have a very special announcement to make. It’s something I think you all will enjoy.

“But before I do that, Madame Pomfrey asked me to make a quick statement on her behalf. Something has been stolen from the Hospital Wing, and she asks that it be returned. You know what it is, and you know who you are. Knowing that you may be too ashamed to return it in person, she has set up an anonymous collection box two hallways down, next to the tapestry of Saint Sassafras the Syphilitic. She will not try to find out who you are.

“However, she _would_ like you to know that you are absolute filth, that you are disgusting and deeply perverted, and that you are the moral equivalent of the excrescence she scrapes off the bedpans.”

Dumbledore fell silent and took a moment to grin widely at each table in turn. Most of the students looked back at him completely nonplussed. Seamus and Dean, however, determinedly avoided his gaze and instead shot each other guilty, uncomfortable glances.

The headmaster clapped his hands together and said, “So… now that that’s out of the way, on to the fun announcement. This year, I have decided that we will be holding a Halloween Ball!”

He paused grandly for a few moments to allow the students to start murmuring with excitement. Everyone loved a ball!

Well, the girls loved a ball. They were the ones who whispered back and forth to each other the second after Dumbledore made his announcement. The boys, however, looked up warily at the headmaster, none of them forgetting the trauma that was the Yule Ball just two years ago.

“It will be on Halloween, obviously,” Dumbledore said. “This year it falls on a Thursday, so you’d better not stay up too late! We will still have class in the morning.”

“Pff, whatever,” Ginny whispered. “It’s gonna be a rager!”

“Also,” Dumbledore added, “It will be a costume ball, so prepare in advance! If you are interested in making your own costume, please speak to Professor Sprout—she will be setting up times after class to teach you how, and material will be provided.”

After a few boring logistics to go along with the announcement, Dumbledore was finished. Ron sighed as the Great Hall returned to its normal level of chatter. “Ugh, I guess I’ll be taking seamstress classes with Professor Sprout. Merlin knows I don’t have the money for a good costume.”

“Me, too,” Ginny agreed. “I’m pretty sure Mum forgot to send my allowance again.”

“Don’t worry, guys,” Harry said quickly, “I could buy—”

“Nope,” Ginny said lightly, but swiftly and firmly. “We’d insist on paying you back, and we have no money. But maybe you take blowjobs?”

Harry blushed a deep red and instantly became speechless.

Ginny grinned impishly and added, “Ron owes me, though, so he’ll pay my portion.”

“Ginny!” Ron squawked. “That’s too weird to even think about! I can’t… I can’t…”

She gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “It’s not so funny when _I_ talk about your sex life, now is it?”

“But—but Hermione’s my girlfriend! Of course we’re going to have sex. But sex with my best friend? Ew, Ginny, just ew.”

Luna interrupted the banter with a soft, “Hey, I have an idea.”

They turned to look at her, She hmmed for a moment and said softly, “This is the perfect opportunity for Harry to escalate his seduction. He can ask Draco to the ball.”

“Good idea, Luna!” Hermione said, sounding as surprised as she always did whenever Luna said something sensible. “Harry, you must ask Draco today, before anyone else does!”

“God, what if Pansy got to him first?” Neville said with a shudder. “That’d be a nightmare.”

“He’s not going to say yes to Pansy,” Luna said, “or any other girl. Draco’s quite gay, remember.”

“But he’s not out,” Harry said, “so I need to act fast. He might settle for going with a girl friend if no boy asks him.”

He felt light in his chest and yet strangely constricted at the same time. He was grateful for such an easy excuse to rekindle things with Draco, but he was also nervous. He’d really slipped up on Friday night, and he hadn’t seen Draco since. He hoped things weren’t weird between the two of them.

Taking a deep breath, he decided he might as well get this over with. Better to ask Draco now than to wait forever like he did with Cho. If there was one thing he hated, it was repeating the same mistake twice.

So Harry stood up and moved towards the Slytherin table with every intention of asking Draco to go somewhere private so they could have a word together. As he started walking, the blonde Slytherin looked up at him, and their eyes met.

For a brief second, Draco’s gaze pierced his. Those silver eyes glowed directly at him, questioning and hesitant. Then Draco blinked, turned quickly away, and shot to his feet. He said something to Crabbe and Goyle, and then he strode out of the Great Hall.

Harry almost stopped in shock at Draco’s sudden exit, but he egged himself on just in time. _Go after him!_ he urged himself. _Don’t let him get away._

He quickened his own pace, and by the time he reached the double doors of the Great Hall, he was practically running. But when he got out into the Entrance Hall, Draco was nowhere to be seen. Cursing to himself, he reached for his bag so he could pull out the Marauder’s Map, but his hand closed in on thin air. He’d left his belongings in the Great Hall.

“Goddamn it!” he swore.

He hurried back into the Great Hall and over to the Gryffindor table, where his friends were watching him curiously.

“Trying to catch a ferret?” Ginny said with a quiver in her lip.

  
“Yeah,” Harry said breathlessly, pulling the Marauder’s Map out of his schoolbag. “God fucking _damn_ it!”

On the map, Draco’s ink blot squiggled around the Slytherin Common Room. For now, he was out of reach. He thought of trying to enter the Slytherin dorms again using Parseltongue, but when he considered it, he suddenly realized he had no idea how he did it. Whenever he spoke Parseltongue, it sounded like normal English to him, anyway. It must have only worked because he was so high.

Ron shrugged and gave Harry a sympathetic slap on the shoulder. “Catch him in between classes, mate,” he suggested.

“Yeah…” Harry said, trying not to let his disappointment show. Draco had obviously left the Great Hall the moment they’d made eye contact. The Slytherin was avoiding him.

Harry didn’t need to ask why. But he _did_ need to figure out how to nab Draco and ask him to the ball. He needed to get things back on track.

*****

Nabbing Draco proved to be far harder done than said. After each class, Harry pulled out the Marauder’s Map and checked the Slytherin’s location. Yet, despite the upper hand, Draco always seemed to dart down some alternate path and over to his next destination before Harry could reach him.

“Found him yet?” Ginny asked over lunch.

Harry shook his head sourly. “No. And he’s back in his fucking common room again. What’s so great about that place? I’ve been there, and it’s dismal and depressing.”

After lunch, he tried twice again between class hours, and both times Draco slipped away. With mounting frustration, he trudged off to the library mid-afternoon for a study session with Ron and Hermione.

“Asked out Draco, have you?” Ron whispered over their Transfiguration studies.

“No,” Harry mumbled, keeping one eye on his essay on the Marauder’s Map.

Hermione peered over at his work. “There’s no apostrophe in _its_ ,” she whispered, pointing to the offending typo. “There. Pay attention, Harry.”

“It’s sort of hard,” Harry ground out, “when I’m also trying to get to Draco before anyone else does. Can you help me keep an eye on the map?”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed, “you really need to focus on studying. Draco’s been in his common room ever since we got here, and it doesn’t look like he’s leaving.”

“Yeah…” Harry said, knowing she was right, but hating it anyway. “Maybe so, but still…”

He continued his fitful work on the essay, filling up the parchment at the sluggish rate of one line per minute. Every few seconds, he would glance over at the Marauder’s Map, which he had set out on the table in front of them. It was incredibly distracting to his train of thought, and because of it the flow of his essay made no logical sense.

“Look!” Ron whispered during one of the few moments when Harry was concentrating on writing. “Malfoy’s about to enter the library!”

Harry immediately broke his concentration and snatched up the map. Indeed, Draco’s ink blot moved through the library entrance and came to a stop at a little cluster of ink blots that included Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson.

“Be right back,” he told his best friends as he jumped to his feet.

“But Harry, your essay—” Hermione started to say.

It was too late, though. Harry left the Marauder’s Map with his friends, but he’d already memorized where Draco’s ink blot was, and he rushed towards that spot in the library.

Clearing the corner of a bookshelf with barely an inch of room to spare, he came up upon Draco’s study table, which was half-full with him and his Slytherin friends. Draco was just now settling down and pulling out his books.

“Draco!” Harry said breathlessly, causing the Slytherin to whip up his head in surprise. “Draco, I need to talk to you.”

Draco froze like a deer caught in headlights. He didn’t even open his mouth to speak. He just stared at Harry like the Gryffindor was his predator.

But Draco didn’t need to say anything. The table he’d chosen was right next to the checkout desk, and the moment Harry’s voice rang out, Madame Pince swooped down on him. “Quiet, you raving lunatic!” she hissed, coming up behind Harry and pushing him away from Draco’s table. “This is the library!”

“But I just need a second!” Harry protested. “I just need to talk to Draco.”

“Out!” Madame Pince screeched. “Out, get out!”

“No, wait!” Harry cried as the librarian started pushing him towards the exit. “Draco, can you follow me out for a second? I need to—”

But Madame Pince had already pushed him out the door. Draco watched him go, making no move to follow.

*****

Nothing else worked. Harry wasn’t able to waylay Draco when he left the library on Monday evening. And then on Tuesday he _still_ wasn’t able to get the Slytherin boy alone. Meanwhile, the other students were already starting to nab their dates.

Any couples who were already together had the easiest go of things. Ron made a huge show of asking Hermione at dinner on Monday, casting Neville and Harry smug glances the entire time. The two boys scowled at him.

Neville’s quandary was less about finding a date and more about narrowing his options down.

“I want to ask out either Eloise, Hannah, or Susan,” he told his friends Tuesday at lunch. “But I don’t want to offend the other two. You know, because I slept with all three of them at the same time. What do you think I should do?”

“You could just wait for two of them to be asked out and then take the remaining one,” Hermione suggested reasonably.

“Yes,” Neville said sarcastically. “I want the leftovers, of course. Also, they’re all hot. What if they all get asked out within an hour of each other?”

“Can you take more than one person to the ball?” Luna suggested.

“Theoretically,” Neville sighed. “But I’m not brave like Harry; I wouldn’t be able to pull that off.”

“To be fair, mate,” Harry said, “neither would I.” Inwardly he sighed with relief, knowing he wasn’t the only one having trouble locking down a date.

Dean dropped in on their group. “Hiya, guys,” he said. “Hey Ginny, do you want to go to the ball with me?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “We’ll do it at a last resort, if it comes to it,” she sighed. “But you gotta ask at least ten other girls first. Also, I’m still a bit afraid of your cock, so don’t expect sex.”

“Deal,” Dean said with a charming grin. “Take care, Gin-Gin!”

“Deal’s off,” Ginny snarled, “if you _ever_ call me Gin-Gin again!”

Then Dean left, only to be replaced by Seamus a minute later. “Hey there,” he said, playing up his Irish brogue. “Ginny, do you want to go to the ball with me?”

“Never,” Ginny said flatly.

“Aw shucks,” Seamus said. “Luna, do you want to go to the ball with me?”

“I’m not sure,” Luna said dreamily. “I’ll pray to the Pygmy Puff goddess and ask her advice. But you may want to consider other options.”

“Fair enough,” Seamus said. “Ron and Hermione, do you fancy going to the ball threesomely?”

“Nice try, mate,” Ron said with a chuckle.

“Then maybe just a little bit of hanky panky during the after-party?”

“You are nothing if not persistent,” Hermione said lightly. “I am not at all convinced that your tongue game is as good as you claim.”

“You can survey all the girls I’ve been with!” Seamus said fervently. “I’ll make you up a list, and you can do your own independent research.”

As Seamus once again tried to lay the groundwork for a threesome, a miniature First-Year Gryffindor boy pattered up to Ginny and tapped her nervously on the shoulder.

“Hi there,” Ginny cooed, completely charmed by the boy’s adorable horn-rimmed glasses and neatly-parted black hair.

“H-hi,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You’re Ginny Weasley. I see you all the time, and I think you’re beautiful. My name’s Casey. Will you go to the ball with me?”

Ginny wilted a little and shrunk back from the adorable little cherub. “But…” she said, quite taken aback. “But… but you’re jailbait! I’d go to Azkaban for even considering it! Have you even hit puberty?”

“Wh-what?” the boy stammered, completely stymied by Ginny’s response.

“She’s asking if you’ve had erections yet,” Luna put in helpfully.

“LUNA!” Hermione cried. The little boy blushed a deep red as his mouth opened and closed like a fish. She quickly stood up and hastened over to the boy’s side to give him a quick, motherly hug. “Casey, you are very sweet, and I know it took courage to ask out Ginny. But you should be asking out girls your own age.”

She led the stuttering boy towards the other end of the Gryffindor table where the First- and Second-Years were eating, turning around just long enough to throw a glare at Luna and Ginny.

“What?” Ginny said, shrugging her shoulders. “He _is_ too young. He’s a fucking shrimp!”

“I’ll say,” Luna agreed. “For once in your life, _you’d_ have to lean down for the kiss.”

“I mean, if I got on top, wouldn’t I break his hips?” Ginny reasoned. “He’s so tiny! If I didn’t completely shatter his poor little frame, I’d probably just lose him up inside of me. I’d rather go to the ball with Snape and have him eat my ass out at the end of the night.”

“Uh, Ginny?” Ron said, raising up a hand. “Amongst my list of things I’d rather never hear you talk about, having your ass eaten out by Snape is near the top. Also—and I didn’t _dream_ I’d consider this until just now—hearing you speculate about fucking children is _even worse_.”

“I’ll stop when you and Hermione stop giving us blow-by-blow details of your sexual misconduct,” came the crisp reply.

This started a heated and very awkward quarrel between the two siblings as they tried to argue over whether it was worse to hear about your sibling’s sex life or about fucking underage children. Harry tried not to listen, but from the get-go he had to admit that Ron, for once, was handily winning the debate.

He was still distracted by the fact that he hadn’t asked out Draco yet. It frustrated him that he wasn’t able to get the boy alone for even a second. But at least there was another Gay Straight Alliance meeting tonight. If nothing else, he could corner Draco afterwards and talk to him then.

 *****

Harry arrived early to the Gay Straight Alliance meeting that evening. Unfortunately, so did half a dozen other people. He came into the study lounge to find Colin, Terry, and Morag MacDougal milling around the refreshments table and having small talk with Draco.

“Hey there,” Harry said, sidling up to join the conversation.

Draco immediately became stiff as Harry squeezed his way into their little circle. Not meeting the Gryffindor’s eyes, he slowly moved towards the other end of the refreshments table under the pretense of grabbing another cracker with goat cheese.

“What’s up, Harry?” Colin said, beaming at his former idol. “Do you have a date for the dance yet?”

“Um, no,” Harry said. He turned to look at Draco just in time to catch his gaze, but the Slytherin quickly looked down at the floor. “I… have not found a date yet. Working on it. What about you?”

“We’re going together!” Terry said. This was obvious, and Harry mentally kicked himself for not realizing it.

“Congratulations,” Harry said, giving them a smile that he didn’t feel in the rest of his body. He kept glancing back at Draco, trying to catch his eye again.

When that didn’t work, Harry finally looked directly at the Slytherin boy and said, “Hi, Draco. How’s it going?”

Draco jerked up suddenly at the sound of his name and forced himself to look at Harry as he responded, “Fine. Going great.”

“Good,” Harry said, a little awkwardly. He left the others and walked towards Draco. “Hey, you got a moment?”

“Not right now,” Draco said, starting to move away as Harry got closer. “I have to prepare for the meeting.” He ducked over to the middle of the room and pretended to cast a critical eye at his usual decorations.

“What’s there left to prepare?” Harry asked him, peeved that Draco was avoiding him. “I just need a couple minutes. Let’s step outside before everyone else gets here.”

“I don’t _have_ a couple minutes,” Draco said pointedly.

“Then after the meeting,” Harry said, giving a little. “You have time then, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Draco mumbled. “Busy evening.”

“Yeah, busy evening? What do you have planned?”

“Studying,” Draco said evasively, avoiding Harry’s piercing gaze.

“ _Studying_ ….” Harry repeated, folding his arms. “You’re going to take ten minutes out of your _studying_ time to talk to me. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Draco took a moment to glare at him before continuing to avoid eye contact. “You sure are stubborn,” he complained.

“Is that a yes?” Harry pressed, taking a step towards Draco. His old feelings were returning—the anger that he used to hold towards the boy, and the desire to hate-fuck him. Why couldn’t Draco just talk to him like a reasonable person?

Draco gave neither a yes nor a no to Harry’s explicit question. Instead he sighed and said, “Put a hold on this, okay? I actually _do_ have a few notes I need to review for the presentation.”

With that, Draco scampered off to a corner and made a big show of poring over his notes. Harry glared after him and stalked back over to the refreshments table.

A minute later, Ron and Hermione wandered in and came up beside Harry. The black-haired Gryffindor hadn’t taken his eyes off Draco since the end of their conversation. He crossed his arms and wore a sulk.

“Any luck, mate?” Ron said, keeping his voice low as he followed Harry’s gaze.

Hermione also followed Harry’s gaze. “It seems not,” she said with a little sigh.

“He’s _preparing his notes for the presentation_ ,” Harry said shortly.

“So you already tried to talk with him?” Hermione prompted.

Harry grunted in affirmation. Still looking at Draco and not at his friends, he added, “I’ll talk to him after the meeting.”

“Good,” Hermione said. “Let us know if you need any help. You’ve been making some good headway, and I’d hate to see it grind to a halt.”

She meant these words in good nature. Her face was relaxed when she said it, and her tone was agreeable. But it struck a chord with Harry. He knew he wasn’t doing a great job seducing Draco; particularly, he knew he’d been oversharing with Draco the entire time. Hermione didn’t know that, but she was correct: if Harry wasn’t careful, he could stop the entire thing in its tracks.

 _I’ll get this right_ , Harry told himself, his brow furrowing even deeper than before. _After the meeting, I’ll talk to him, and the seduction will be back on._

He wasn’t sure what he’d say, but he told himself that it would come to him. He’d just have to play it cool, make himself seem sexy and mysterious again.

Harry didn’t talk to his friends for the rest of the meeting. Though Ron and Hermione had plenty to chat about, and though Ginny and Neville and Luna joined in when they arrived, Harry stood stony-faced and silent the whole time. When the meeting started, he didn’t pay attention to the presentation, even though he watched every movement of Draco’s soft pink lips.

After the presentation everyone mingled for about half an hour, enjoying the refreshments and conversation. Harry didn’t participate, though. Instead, he glowered at Draco as he wove between the discussions, joining each one effortlessly with a pleasant smile on his pale face. He skipped over Harry’s group, and all of them noticed.

“Stupid git,” mumbled Ron. “He could have at least stopped by to say hello.”

“Yeah,” Ginny sighed. “But I don’t care if he doesn’t talk to _me_ —what matters is that we get him alone with Harry.”

“So let’s leave, then,” Luna said sensibly. “The five of us go, and hopefully everyone else will follow suit, leaving Harry with Draco.”

“Good plan,” Hermione said, again sounding impressed with the Ravenclaw’s unexpected sensibility. She gave Harry a squeeze on the shoulder and said, “Good luck.”

Harry nodded silently. Neville and Ron clapped him on the back before they gathered up their belongings and headed to the door with Hermione. Ginny flashed him a smile and followed suit. Luna was the last to go; she gave Harry a quick slap on the ass and sashayed away.

It worked. Once the Gryffindors made a show of leaving, the other members of the club began looking at their watches and gathering up their belongings as well. Colin and Terry left first, probably to snog in a broom closet somewhere. Then everyone else trickled out after that.

Soon, it was just Harry and Draco. The Slytherin didn’t look at Harry as he started magicking down the decorations. His body was tense; he jabbed his wand instead of swishing it.

“Draco,” Harry said, finally breaking his silence. He took a step towards the boy, longing to reach out and touch him again. He was mad at Draco, but every time he looked at him, he couldn’t forget how sweet that boy had felt in his arms on Friday night. Holy shit, how he wanted to feel that again!

“You wanted to talk,” Draco said, not looking at Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry said, surprised to hear his voice softening. He didn’t like that Draco wasn’t turning around to look him in the eye, but at least the Slytherin was talking to him again!

He took another step closer and said, “I… I feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”

“What do you mean?” Draco said casually, jabbing his wand up at a hanging strand of tinsel. It fell to the ground in tatters, blasted apart by Draco’s reckless magic. “It’s only been a few days since we last talked. That’s not that long, is it?”

“Well,” Harry said, taken aback by this. Draco had a point; four days was _not_ that long… at least, not if it was someone you didn’t care about. If all Harry wanted to do was fuck Draco, he could easily go four days without talking.

But it had seemed longer— _much_ longer. Every day that went by without getting to see Draco felt like an eternity. He’d woken up each morning daydreaming that he’d finally get to talk to Draco again that day.

“Well,” Harry started again, “it _isn’t_ that long. I… I didn’t say it seemed like a long time at all. In fact, I could hardly care whether it was four days or four weeks. I just… when we pass by each other, you avoid talking to me.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” Draco said shortly. “I was just busy.”

“Oh,” Harry said lamely. He was pretty sure Draco was lying, but he didn’t want to make the accusation. He didn’t want to seem more lovesick that he already did. “Oh. Okay.”

Draco suddenly turned around and put his wand away, and then he looked Harry directly in the eyes. “Why do you care, anyway?” he asked bluntly.

Harry scratched the back of his head nervously. _I care because I’m falling for you, and it hurt that you stopped talking to me_ , he said to himself. _I told you how I felt about you, and you sent me away_.

But he didn’t say that out loud. Instead, he said, “I… I don’t care. I just…”

“You just what?” Draco interrupted.

“I just… I don’t care. It’s okay. Forget it.”

Draco crossed his arms and frowned at the Gryffindor boy. “Forget it?” he said slowly, his silver eyes blazing as his gaze bored into Harry. “Then why did you want to speak to me?”

Harry cursed himself inwardly. The purpose of this talk should have been for him to ask out Draco to the Halloween Ball. Going in, though, he had hardly even thought about that. All he’d been able to think about was getting Draco to speak to him again.

When Harry didn’t answer, Draco pressed him further. “Should I… forget what you said on Friday night?” His words were very measured, and his voice was fiercely calm.

Harry’s heartbeat quickened as he remembered what he had said. _Draco, I really care about you_. He was thinking it now, too. He wanted to open his mouth and repeat it, but he didn’t dare. This wasn’t why he was interacting with Draco. This was supposed to be a seduction. Draco was supposed to be putty in his hands, not the other way around!

“I… I don’t remember what I said on Friday night,” Harry said in a low voice. “I was very high.”

“Yes, you were,” Draco said bluntly. “But surely you remember at least a little bit of what you were saying? You _do_ remember that you broke into the Slytherin dorms and found me in my bed.”

“I do,” Harry said, knowing he couldn’t feign ignorance there.

“And you said nice things,” Draco said, his face softening. “You kissed me and touched me and said some sweet words. Do you remember this?”

“I remember kissing you,” Harry said, choosing his words carefully. He almost wished Hermione was here to speak for him; she was so much better at choosing the right thing to say! “I… I liked it a lot. You felt good.”

“I know,” Draco said without a trace of humility. “I’d expect you to remember that part; I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. But tell me what you remember saying to me.”

 _I want what you want_.

Harry wanted to say it out loud. Hell, he would have even been happy just to mouth the words. But instead he forced himself to shrug. “Sexy things, I think,” he lied. “Did I talk a little dirty?” He faked a quick smile, trying to make himself appear mischievous instead of yearning.

“A little,” Draco said, his features beginning to harden again. “You did a little, but you said more. Don’t you remember it?”

Of course Harry remembered it. But he couldn’t say it again. He _had_ to keep the upper hand in this seduction, especially with all the ground he’d lost already. He couldn’t mess this up.

“No, Draco,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I… I was high. I was very, very—”

“—Very, very, _very_ high!” Draco finished sternly. He inhaled deeply, held his breath for a long moment, and then let it out again. The exhale ended with a brief but noticeable little sigh. He hunched his shoulders just a little and turned down his chin, looking up nervously at Harry.

The Gryffindor recognized Draco’s insecurity, and his heart melted.. He longed to close the gap between them and gather Draco in his arms. He wanted to squeeze Draco tight against his chest until all his worries went away. He wanted to make Draco feel good again.

But he forced himself to stand there, stony-faced, unmoving. It was actually Draco who had the gumption to move a step closer this time.

“You said that you cared about me.” Draco uncrossed his arms as he spoke and looked Harry directly in the eyes.

“No, I didn’t,” Harry blurted out in a panic. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did,” Draco said firmly.

“No,” Harry blathered. “I… I wouldn’t have said that.”

Draco took a step back, his brow furrowing. “You _did_ say that, Harry,” he said with a quaver in his voice. “Please don’t deny it.”

Harry’s body felt prickly. Running his fingers repeatedly through his hair, he avoided Draco’s gaze and mumbled, “Well, it probably wasn’t what I was trying to say. I… I was high. I was probably trying to say that I thought you were… really sexy or something.”

Draco took another step back and crossed his arms again, his furrowed brow slowly turning into a glare. “So,” he said slowly, “when you said that you cared about me, you didn’t mean it?”

“I…” Harry was bowled over by Draco’s words. The Slytherin had led him directly into a trap. He could either keep Draco happy and say that he _did_ mean it, or he could lie and say that he didn’t. The first choice revealed Harry’s feelings for what they really were, and he would completely lose the upper hand in his seduction plot. In fact, if he admitted that his words on Friday night had been true, he could pretty much call off the seduction plot altogether. Yet if he lied and said he didn’t care about Draco, it would hurt the Slytherin’s feelings, and that, too, would destroy the seduction plot. He couldn’t tell Draco he didn’t care about him, then try to seduce him.

“Well?” Draco said, softly but firmly. “When you said it, did you mean it?”

Harry squinched his eyelids shut and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It didn’t work. Any rational idea was blocked out by how badly Harry wished this wasn’t a seduction so he could come clean and admit his feelings to Draco.

Taking a deep breath, he looked Draco directly in the eye and made a blind, split-second decision. “I didn’t mean it,” he said.

It was the wrong decision, of course, but so was the other. Harry was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. But he couldn’t let Draco have the upper hand.

Draco’s face hardened even further. His chest sunk, and his eyes grew cold. As quickly as he had turned to face Harry, he spun around and returned to removing the decorations. “ _Accio_ _tinsel_ ,” he mumbled. The rainbow tinsel zipped down from the molding and landed across his face and chest. He growled irritably and threw it to the floor with the rest of the decorations.

“Draco?” Harry felt awful. He didn’t know what to do or say.

“I think we’re done now,” Draco said, still not looking at him.

Harry finally took another step closer to the Slytherin boy, reaching his hand out towards the boy’s tense back. “Draco, just because I didn’t—”

“We’re _quite_ done here,” Draco interrupted firmly. “You may go now.”

“Draco—”

“Potter, you _need_ to leave now!”

These last words came out as a cry, sharp and sudden. It echoed off the ceiling and bounced around the room, hitting Harry directly in the chest and chilling his insides. Draco was serious.

So Harry picked up his schoolbag and left, his heart thumping and his mind racing. He half-ran down the Hogwarts halls, cursing himself for what had just happened.

He’d completely fucked it up. He’d gone into the conversation hoping to keep the seduction going while at the same time getting a chance to explore his feelings for Draco. But he’d left with both wishes completely shattered. Draco was no longer ripe for seduction. And Harry had straight-out said that he didn’t care for the Slytherin. This was all a mess.

As he ran down the corridors, a silvery phoenix Patronus rounded a corner and accosted him with Dumbledore’s breezy voice. “Hi, Harry!” it chirped as it followed him down the hall. “You have a special visitor!”

“Not now!” Harry snapped, not even looking back as he swatted an impatient hand at the ethereal phoenix. “I’m very busy. I need to find my friends.”

“He’s new to Hogwarts,” the phoenix added, unperturbed by Harry’s dismissal. “So I’m going to guide him to you with my Patronus. Expect him in an hour or so.”

“Buzz the fuck off!” Harry snarled, quickening his pace to a run.

“Just a head’s up!” the phoenix continued, increasing its pace to match Harry’s. “Be prepared. Be somewhere where you can talk to him, preferably alone, and definitely not in your dormitory or common room. If you’re out past curfew, I’ve already given Filch notice not to flag you down. And… I think that’s everything. Bye bye for now.”

To Harry’s relief, the Patronus was done delivering its message. It dissolved into mist behind his shoulder, and in a few seconds he’d easily outpaced its remnants.

He came to a stop just outside the Room of Requirement. His body had taken him there out of reflex, and he hadn’t even thought to summon his friends for a meeting. And yet it didn’t surprise them when he entered the room to find the five of them waiting for him.

“How did it go?” Luna asked the moment Harry stepped through the door. The Room of Requirement had shaped itself into a modestly-sized meeting room with a circular mahogany table surrounded by six wide wicker chairs. Harry stood behind the remaining empty one—the one closest to the door—but he didn’t pull it out to sit down. He was too nervous.

“It…” he started out. “It went…”

Then he stopped, afraid to continue. He needed his friends right now. He needed their advice. He had to be honest with himself: as much as they tried to support him with this plot, he had completely rejected their help. They had given him advice that he hadn’t followed. And he had done a lot of things that he hadn’t told them about.

To be honest, it was hard to pick one single thing that Harry was ashamed about, particularly because there was just too many details that he’d wrongly kept hidden from his friends. Even worse was how it all snuck up on him: everything he’d hidden seemed to have a good reason behind it, and yet it had snowballed out of control.

Where had it all began? Him offering to seduce Draco. He hadn’t lied to his friends at the time, but he’d definitely omitted his real motivations. He hadn’t yet told them that he’d been feeling attraction towards men. And he thought it would be weird to tell them he wanted to hate-fuck Draco _before_ he told them that.

So they hadn’t known he was into guys, and they hadn’t known he’d wanted to fuck Draco in particular. It seemed admissible at the time, glossing over those details. After all, how relevant had they seemed to the seduction plot?

Then he had glossed over how much he was actually getting into the seduction. What did it matter that he enjoyed it, as long as it actually worked?

It did matter, though. It had been his downfall. It made him share too much with Draco. And then it made him fall for Draco. That’s when the lies really started. That’s when he’d stopped omitting truths and started changing the facts.

“I…” Harry started over again. “It didn’t go well at all.”

He knew he needed to come clean with his friends, but in all honesty, it scared him worse than facing Voldemort again. He would die to protect them from harm, and yet he couldn’t bear to tell them how badly he’d fucked up… and how much he’d kept hidden from them.

At Harry’s words, everyone shifted uncomfortably in their wicker seats. Hermione leaned forward with her elbows on the table and stared him down with a furrowed brow. “What do you mean, Harry?” she asked. “How did it go wrong?”

“I think…” Harry started, trying to figure out the best way to ease his friends into this. “I think I gave Draco the wrong impression.”

“What impression did you give him, mate?” Ron asked.

Neville stared Harry down nearly as intensely as Hermione. “You’ve been giving him the impression that you want to fuck him, right?” he said.

“Yeah,” Harry said. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and amended, “I mean, yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time. I’ve very much tried to make him think that I want to fuck him.”

“And _is_ that what he thinks?” Hermione said pointedly.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, the same as he’d done when talking with Draco. His heart was racing, and his forehead was sweating. “I think I… came on stronger than I meant to,” he mumbled. He whimpered and threw out his arms in a plea for mercy. “C’mon guys, you know I’m not the best at this sort of thing!”

Hermione surveyed him with growing alarm. “But you… but you _volunteered_ for this!” she said. “If you’re _not the best_ at this, why didn’t you address that up front?”

“To be fair,” Luna said softly, “Neville and Ron are surely no better at this sort of thing, and once we found out Draco was gay, it’s not like we could leave it up to the girls. Harry’s been our only hope all along.”

“I know that,” Hermione said, wringing her hands, “but, Harry… you were also so positive in your reports! All you’ve been talking about is how successful you’ve been. If there was a problem, why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

Harry hung his head, too ashamed to look at his best friend. “I… I didn’t realize it was a problem til now,” he said. This was more or less true; all along he’d realized how _problematic_ his approach was, but it wasn’t until his recent conversation with Draco that he realized how much of an actual disaster he’d created.

“Is it because you’ve never fucked a guy before?” Ron asked. “Are you mucking it up because you’re not really into Draco?”

Harry’s heart hammered in his chest, knowing that it was actually the exact opposite reason. But to say that would be too much too quick. He had to ease them into the shock instead of plunging them in directly. “No,” he said slowly, “it’s not that.”

“Then what it is?” Neville probed. “Did you come on too strong? Did you make it seem… _too much_ like you wanted to fuck him? Did you scare him off?” He looked Harry dead-on as he leveled this assumption, and Harry knew the boy was a little pissed off. Neville obviously had kept Harry’s hate-fuck desire a secret, and it was becoming pretty obvious that Neville shouldn’t have trusted Harry’s judgment after all.

Though not for the reasons Neville was thinking.

“I did come on a little too strong,” Harry finally admitted. “But… not in that way. I… I’m a Gryffindor, so I sorta… don’t really know about seduction. So instead of making it seem like I wanted to fuck him, I…”

Here he paused and lifted his head up just long enough to she could survey all his friends. Hermione and Neville in particular were staring so intensely they were only one more offense away from outright glowering at him. Ginny and Ron were frowning at him, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. Only Luna looked remotely calm. She cocked her head at Harry and surveyed him through her wide gray eyes. But even she looked a little glum.

Harry took a deep breath and got it all out in one mouthful. “I made him think I was falling for him, and now I just told him I didn’t care about him like that, and now he’s mad at me.”

All five of his friends blinked at him in shock. Hermione gripped the table, her knuckles turning red. Ron’s mouth fell open. Neville’s staring did indeed turn into an outright glower. Ginny knitted her brow in intense thought. And Luna’s shoulders just sort of slumped.

Hermione was the first speak. She opened her mouth long before the first words came out, and when they did, they were measured and slow. “So,” she said, “we tasked you to _seduce_ Draco… and instead you _wooed_ him?”

“Something like that,” Harry mumbled.

The bushy-haired girl shook her head and tried to contain herself as her eyes bugged in her head. “Good god, Harry,” she sighed. “How long have you been letting this go on?”

Harry’s face burned as he replied, mostly truthfully, “It… it really just snuck up on me. I didn’t realize how badly I was doing until now.”

“No wonder this seduction’s been going so slowly!” Hermione moaned. “You’ve been giving him the wrong idea the whole time! You’ve probably scared him off. Sweet Merlin, this is a disaster.”

Ginny leaned forward and said softly, “Come now, it’s not so bad. I mean, yes, this  _is_  a clusterfuck. But it’s not the worst thing in the world. In fact, it’s not the worst thing that any of us in this room has done. Like, it’s just a seduction plot gone wrong—it’s not like he set a Basilisk on Muggle-born kids.”

“Don’t keep beating yourself up over that,” Luna told her. “I mean, ethnic cleansing issues aside, controlling a Basilisk is sort of badass.”

“I’m not  _actually_  feeling guilty about that still,” Ginny said quickly. “I’m just trying to point out that this is a relatively easy offense to overcome. We’ll just rejigger our strategy and chase Draco from a different angle.”

“From  _what_ angle?” Hermione said crossly. “Now, apparently, we have to pretend like Harry wants to…  _date him?_  Be his boyfriend? What’s _wrong_ with you, Harry?”

Harry hung his head glumly and didn’t respond to her reproaches.

“I mean,” she continued, gathering steam, “it’s hard enough to pretend to fuck someone you don’t want to fuck. But to pretend like you want to  _have a romantic relationship_  with your archenemy?”

As she said  _someone you don’t want to fuck_ , Neville’s glare deepened. He opened his mouth, ready to speak as soon as Hermione hit a break in her speech. And as she finished the question, he jumped in with, “Harry, perhaps there’s more you’d like to tell us?”

“No, there isn’t,” Harry bleated automatically. Inwardly he cursed himself out again. He was lying like a Slytherin, even as he should be coming clean. “I mean, that’s the general gist of things.”

Hermione steamrolled over Neville’s aside as she continued her rant. “Ugh, I guess we’ll have to come at it from a romance angle now.”

“I can do that,” Harry said bashfully, hanging his head low.

“ _Can_  you, though?” Hermione snapped. “You fucked it up once—how can I know you won’t fuck it up again?” She paused, as if waiting for Harry to answer, but she couldn’t last more than three seconds before she had to start speaking again. “I mean, we  _have_ to rely on you. But from now on, you aren’t flying solo! We’re  _really_  going to have to plan out your moves, step-for-step, word-for-word.”

“Okay,” Harry said humbly, trying to mollify his friend with his compliance.  
  
Hermione was still not done, though. Shaking her head, she sighed, “Man, at this point, I wish  _I_  could be the one to seduce Malfoy.”  
  
“I’d have to disagree,” Ron said swiftly, and a little sharply.

“What?” Hermione shot back. “At least I’d get it right!”

“I’d still feel mighty uncomfortable with that, though,” Ron countered. “Really… I never thought I’d heard you say that you wish you could seduce Malfoy. Eurgh!”

“Grow up, Ron!” Hermione snapped. “It’s not about romance or sex. Hell, it’s not even about you or me or any of us. This is about defeating the Dark Side.”

“But… but you and Malfoy?” Ron stuttered. “I just can’t—”

Hermione shot up in her wicker chair, glaring at Ron. “Well,  _I can_.” She swung around to face Harry, her eyes narrowed in a fierce glare. “Harry, give me the Marauder’s Map.”

The Boy-Who-Lived automatically stuffed his hand in his bag and handed her the map. He was so mollified and mortified and ashamed that he didn’t even think to question her. He just didn’t want his friends to be mad at him anymore.

“You’re not going to seduce Malfoy, are you?” Ron cried, also standing up.

“Holy aborted baby Jesus, of course not!” Hermione yelped. “But I  _am_  going to set things right! I’m going to get this train back on the tracks.”

“Maybe we should discuss it first—” Ginny started to say.

And at the same time, Neville said, “But what kind of plan—?”

And Ron: “Sweet Merlin, Hermione, please—”

And Luna: “But the Nargles—!”

Only Harry remained silent as Hermione stormed out, even though he had the most reasons to stop her. Her talk with Draco could only end up in his friends being even madder at him. But his head was spinning, and he needed just a few minutes to clear his thoughts. It really  _was_  time to come clean, but he couldn’t bear to do it all at once. With her gone, it bought him some time.

He just hoped this night didn’t turn into a trainwreck. As Hermione slammed the door behind her, though, it sent a chill of foreboding through his heart. Before things could get better, they were definitely going to get worse.


	12. It Doesn't Get Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Hermione help get the situation under control? Probably not. Okay, definitely not.

**A/N:** Oh my god, once again I find myself having to apologize for the delay. I swear it’s because work (and life, and the holidays)—I’m loving writing this fic, and I wish I had more time. I’ll try to get the next chapter up sooner, I promise!

**CHAPTER TWELVE: It Doesn’t Get Better**

After Harry left the Astronomy Tower study lounge, Draco stood alone, surrounded by torn rainbow tinsel, his chest heaving. Even once the Gryffindor boy had been gone for a while, he was unnaturally still.

_I didn’t mean it_ , Harry had said. Draco squinched his eyes as he played the words over in his head. _I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it._ He felt an unfamiliar prickle in the corner of his eyes… Tears.

“Like fuck you’re gonna,” Draco mumbled, slapping himself in the face. “Stop it.” He slapped himself again, as if it would drive the tears back into his body. It almost worked, actually… he didn’t cry, but the prickling feeling sunk even deeper into him until it was a leaden weight in his chest.

He composed himself—even though there was no need, because he was alone—but inside he was absolutely aching.

Another slap, this time harder. “You dumb fuck,” he scolded himself. “You stupid, _stupid_ twat. Stop feeling. Stop it. You’re not into Harry. You’re not into Harry. You’re not into him. You’re not.”

A queer little shudder of emotion ran through his chest. He squeezed his eyelids tight and shook himself to get rid of it. Then a deep breath, and he finally felt calm. Well, almost calm. But damn it—a tear had leaked out when he closed his eyes: a single, solitary tear that was now tracking its way down his soft, pale cheek.

Draco growled at himself and wiped it away. Then he kept busy cleaning up the study lounge. He had the place tidy within fifteen minutes: the decorations down, the refreshments table folded up in the corner, and the desks and chairs back in their little groups spread throughout the room. During this time, another tear or two escaped his eyes, but he wiped them away as quickly as they appeared.

He would be okay. He would just… get rid of his feelings for Harry. How stupid was it, anyway, liking that boy? Harry was his enemy! It was a _good_ thing Draco was going to get over him—it meant he could focus on seducing the boy again!

Nevertheless, he had to take a moment to sit down on one of the velvet-cushioned chairs so he could inhale and exhale several times, trying to calm his throbbing heart.

However much he knew he shouldn’t have fallen for Harry, it didn’t change the fact that he had. Now Harry was rejecting him, and it hurt.

He’d had barely a moment to settle down, though, when the door burst open. He bit back a yelp and shot to his feet.

“Hermione?” he squawked as the Gryffindor girl herself strode through the doorway.

“Yes, Malfoy,” she said, stuffing a piece of raggedy old parchment into her bag. “I left a book in here.”

Draco didn’t even need to look around the room to know that she was wrong… wrong, or not telling the truth. “I just cleaned up,” he said, his voice short. “There was no book.”

Hermione glanced into her schoolbag for a moment, then turned her gaze back to Draco. “Oh, here it is,” she said brazenly, not at all perturbed that she was caught in her lie. “My mistake.”

She paused for a moment longer to survey Draco. The Slytherin boy glared at her in return, wondering what her deal was. If he were to guess, Harry probably sent her up here to smooth things over. That, or Draco had been right to be wary of Harry and his friends all along. This whole thing _was_ just an excuse for them to spy on him.

So he opened his mouth to tell Hermione to leave, but the moment his lips parted, she jumped in with, “Have you… been _crying_ , Malfoy?”

Draco’s mouth finished opening, but no words came out. So he snapped it shut, glared at Hermione, and started over. “ _No_ , Granger!”

“You _have_ been crying!”

“Fuck off,” he snapped, spinning on his heel so he was facing away from her.

But Hermione wasn’t having any of that. She danced around so she could face Draco again, and he kept turning so she couldn’t see him.

“Why have you been crying, Malfoy?” Hermione asked.

“Fuck off and die.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Mudblood.”

“Something’s the matter, Malfoy.”

“Nothing’s the matter!”

Draco was getting a little dizzy, so she stopped spinning and turned his face towards the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he could still see Hermione’s big brown eyes staring directly at him.

“It’s okay… Draco,” she said. “You can tell me.”

“Eat a queef, you dumb cooze,” Draco groused. He crossed his arms and refused to look at Hermione.

Hermione huffed a sigh and took a seat in the chair that Draco had recently vacated. “Be like that, then,” she said simply.

Draco lifted his head just a little so he could take a peek at her. She struck a dominant pose in the chair, her arms wrapped around the top and her legs spread slightly. Her gaze refused to leave Draco; it bored into him, challenging him to stay and talk.

To be sure, the Slytherin boy was suspicious. Harry had probably just told her the entire conversation they’d had. Harry probably told his friends _all_ the conversations they had. And now Hermione was coming back… to what? To make sure that Harry and Draco got together? Why would she want that, except if Harry was running a seduction plot of his own? Hermione was definitely trying to weasel something out of him.

But did he want to leave? Hell no.

He pulled up a chair of his own and took a seat opposite Hermione. Finally lifting his head, he looked her directly in the eye. He knew she was trying to get something out of him, but it was time to see what _he_ could get out of _her_.

Oddly enough, Draco started by telling the truth. “I’m upset, Hermione,” he said. “I thought Harry was falling for me, but he isn’t.”

Hermione nodded, as if she expected to hear this. “That’s… I’m sorry to hear that, Draco. But why did you think Harry was falling for you?”

“Why are you asking _me?”_ Draco said testily. “Doesn’t Harry share everything will you?”

“He does,” Hermione said with an edge to her voice. Her hands gripped the edge of the chair as she said this, and she took a quick, deep breath before she continued speaking. “Harry _does_ tell us everything. And I’m not blind—I’ve seen you two making eyes at each other during the meetings. I know something’s going on. But from what I gathered, it seemed like you two were just looking for some fun.”

Draco’s eyes captured her every move, trying to interpret her body language so he could figure out where she was telling the truth and where she was fudging her words. She definitely seemed upset when Draco mentioned that Harry shared everything with them. He hid a grin that threatened to break across his face; Harry _hadn’t_ told his friends everything. It seemed he had some ammo to use!

He just had to figure out what exactly that ammo was.

So, much to his surprise, Draco continued telling the truth.

“It’s not just that he made out with me a couple times,” Draco said. “It’s not that we kissed during the party, or that we ended up on top of each other, grinding, when he showed me some fight moves. It was more than that.”

“How do you mean?” Hermione said. She seemed calm again. Apparently Harry had told her this much so far.

“Well, little things, for one,” Draco started, still sticking to the truth. “The way he looked at me. The way he listened. Even the way he held me when we were making out. Sometimes… well, a lot of the time, honestly… it seemed like he wanted something more than a mere fuck.”

His voice softened as he spoke. He let it soften. He let himself be genuine. It felt so good to say it out loud. It was almost as if Hermione was his therapist, and he was laying his troubled thoughts at her feet.

But also… he could tell it was making her very uncomfortable. And he loved that, too!

Hermione shifted in her seat. “Draco,” she said gently, “are you sure you weren’t imagining that? Maybe you wanted him to feel that way so badly that you imagined it.”

Draco curled his lip at her. “ _Granger_ ,” he said, his voice dripping and sardonic, “listen to yourself. Why… _why_ would I ever want Harry Potter to fall for me? That’s the exact opposite of what I would actually, reasonably want.”

Hermione shrugged. “The heart isn’t always reasonable,” she posited.

Draco gave her a long, hard long and didn’t respond to this. Instead, he continued his previous train of thought. “But it’s more than that. It’s the things he said.”

“Like what?” Hermione prompted him.

“Like when he was really high,” Draco said, “and he snuck into my dormitory.”

Here, he was rewarded by Hermione slowly leaning forward, her arms becoming undone from the back of her chair as her brow furrowed. “Yeah?” she murmured.

“He told you about this, right?” Draco said, modulating his tone as if his statement was a mere aside.

“Yeah, he did,” Hermione said, frowning at Draco.

Though he remained as composed as ever, Draco was dancing with glee on the inside. He’d hit pay dirt! Harry had _not_ revealed this to his friends!

Continuing _still_ with the truth, Draco pressed onward. “He told me… he told me that he really cared about me. He said, _I want what you want_. What do you think that means… Hermione?”

She was no longer postured so assuredly in her seat. Now she bent over with her knees on her elbows and a frown on her face, hanging on to Draco’s every word. “I think it means…” she said slowly, “that he was trying to get into your pants, and he was saying whatever he thought would make you let him.”

“Maybe,” Draco said, “But damn! It sounded like he really, _really_ meant it!”

For a moment Hermione didn’t answer him. Then she shrugged and said, as if noncommittal, “I don’t know, Draco. Maybe he feels something.”

Now she _was_ talking guff: Draco could tell. She’d stopped looking him in the eye; she didn’t know her own words.

“But it was _more_ than that,” Draco continued, unrelenting. “It was… even _more..._ than that.”

And here, he paused for a short while. He even forgot that he was supposed to be surveying Hermione’s reaction. Because there _was_ one thing that he truly couldn’t shake, no matter how much he suspected this was all a plot on the part of Harry and his friends.

“It was what he _shared_ with me. “Draco looked directly at Hermione. She had been looking away briefly as she digested what Harry had said when he was high. But now she looked back again.

“What did he share with you?” she said, her full attention on the Slytherin.

“Very personal things,” Draco said. “Particularly the time when we skived off class to go to the Three Broomsticks. Did he tell you about this?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, sounding almost grateful to be back at an anecdote that she’d actually been told. “He _did_ tell us about that.”

“Yeah…” Draco said. He knew he’d been trying hard to capture Hermione’s every movement, but here he actually looked down at his hands. Maybe Harry _had_ been saying stupid shit when he was high, and maybe he _hadn’t_ meant to say that he cared about Draco. But even if that were true, their conversation in the Three Broomsticks was one he couldn’t explain away.

“Yeah…” Draco said again. “I… I told him about my home life a little. Really intimate details. And he told me about… well, you know…”

Silence. Hermione continued to lean forward in her seat, her gaze piercing and her brow creased in a frown. She did not respond to Draco.

“About the times he attempted suicide,” Draco prompted gently.

Hermione _did_ respond to this. She flinched as if she had been slapped. Her mouth slowly fell open as she gaped at Draco. Her eyes widened in her head, and her hands shook against her knees. “H-he told you that?” she breathed before she could stop herself.

“Yes, he did,” Draco said.

“Wh-why did he tell you that?”

Draco shrugged. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. For someone who’s just trying to seduce me, it doesn’t make much sense. It’s… _way_ too personal.”

As conflicted as he felt about this, he couldn’t wait to hear what Hermione had to say. Part of him wanted to delight in her continued discomfort, but the rest of him actually wanted to her what she had to say.

But, much to Draco’s disappointment, Hermione didn’t answer him. Instead, she shot to her feet, her face flushed and her hands trembling a little. “I… I have to go,” she mumbled. “I… left my book in…”

Here, Draco actually laughed at her. “Your _book?_ You used that excuse to come back here!”

“I mean I forgot I have to meet with Dumbledore…”

“ _Now_?” Draco scoffed. “It’s almost curfew.”

“Oh, eat shit and die!” Hermione snarled. She snatched up her schoolbag and rushed out of the door, leaving Draco alone to contemplate everything that had just happened.

*****

It was an uncomfortable half-hour that Hermione was gone from the Room of Requirement. Harry shifted every whichaway in his wicker chair, trying not to look his friends in the eye. He wasn’t sure what Draco would and wouldn’t be willing to reveal, but whatever he did probably wouldn’t bode well for Harry.

In the first minute, he was sure that his friends would start bombarding him with questions. Indeed, Ginny rocked back and forth in her chair, and both Ron and Neville kept opening their mouths as if to say something, only to close them again. Thankfully, Luna came to his aid, probably on accident, by pulling out one of her schoolbooks and remarking, “Well, I might as well get some reading done until Hermione gets back. We don’t want to leave her out of any conversations.”

The others realized begrudgingly that she was right, and they also took out schoolbooks. But Harry could tell they weren’t reading them. Luna wasn’t even reading her book, even though she’d been the one to take the lead.

Harry didn’t know what he should be prepared to talk about when Hermione returned. He’d told himself he was ready to come clean, but he didn’t know how he’d explain to them that he was into men… or that he wanted to fuck Draco… or that he’d actually fallen for Draco. He rehearsed different speeches in his head, trying to figure out which one would fit best for the situation. Maybe he could have one prepared for an angry Hermione, then another prepared for a more understanding Hermione. _Maybe_ being the operative word… 30 minutes of pondering yielded no results.

Then the door of the Room of Requirement flew open, and Hermione barged in. Harry fully expected her to be upset, or angry, or even furious. But even he wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

She was beside herself. She was absolutely shaking. Her fists clenched and unclenched rapidly… many, many times. She looked like a person who was too far gone to even know what to think.

Slamming to the door behind her, Hermione strode into the center of the room and looked directly at Harry. “H-H-Harry,” she said, beginning with a stammer. “Harry James Potter. Is there anything you would like to tell us?”

_Shit_ , Harry thought to himself. _She knows. She knows… something. Lots of things. Draco outed me. Or else she knows that I’ve fallen for Draco. He must have told her about the night I was high and snuck into his dorm._ So Harry steeled himself and prepared to tell her about that…

But only when she asked him to. He couldn’t actually bring himself to start the conversation. Instead, he waited in silence for her to speak.

“Anything?” said repeated, almost begging him to speak. “Anything you told Malfoy that you didn’t think to tell us about?”

Harry still didn’t speak. Seconds ticked by as everyone else in the room gaped at Hermione, not knowing what to make of her obvious agitation. Everyone had been expecting her to arrive back upset, but not _this_ upset. As the seconds mounted and approached half a minute, Harry finally prepared himself to speak. He would have to come clean. He would have to tell them about the night he confessed his feelings to Draco.

But a split second before he opened his mouth, Hermione continued speaking, her voice trembling with every word. “Why… _WHY_ did you tell Malfoy that you… attempted suicide?? What were you thinking?”

Holy shit.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Harry froze all the way through, his fists clenching his seat and his fingers digging into the wicker framework. This was the one thing he hadn’t prepared for. In all honesty, he’d been in complete denial that Draco would even bring this up.

“Wha—?” Ron said. “What are you talking about, Hermione?”

“I mean, what is that even about?” Hermione continued. “Why would you _say_ that to him? How could you even _think_ to mess around with something like that?”

Harry’s insides were as frozen as his body. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know where to begin. His mind raced and came up with nothing.

“What’s going on?” Ginny asked. “Hermione, what did Malfoy tell you?”

Hermione hadn’t stopped shaking. “Apparently Harry decided that a brilliant part of his seduction plot would be to feed Malfoy some story about how he attempted suicide because… because… well, _why?”_ She rounded on Harry. “What good could it possibly do to make up some story about you trying to kill yourself? Were you trying to _seduce_ him with that? Did you think it would turn him on?”

“But… but why didn’t you tell us?” Neville asked. “That’s really a risky move, making up something like that. How could you have been sure to tell him convincingly?”

“Neville’s right,” Ginny said. “ _And_ Hermione, too. It’s not even sexy. It’s… dark. It’s… well, it’s _definitely_ not something you’d tell someone unless you wanted something deeper than a sexual relationship. And even then…!”

Ron leaned forward in his seat, frowning at Harry. “Merlin’s beard, Harry,” he said, shaking his head at his best friend. “That’s also not something to bandy about. We were really worried about you last summer… shit like that hits really close to home.”

The only person who didn’t chime in was Luna. She just looked directly at Harry, her blue eyes wide and filled with tears. She knew; she’d figured it out before the rest of them.

When Harry saw his Ravenclaw friend start to cry, he couldn’t compose himself anymore, either. He began shaking even worse than Hermione, his shoes clicking against the floor and his fingers juddering against the edge of his seat.

“Ron’s right,” Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips. She took several deep breaths to calm herself down… well, to _relatively_ calm herself down. She still looked deeply agitated, but at least she was no longer shaking. She surveyed Harry with a sad gaze, her eyes filled with a hurt from the past. “I’m… I’m not this angry because you’ve been hiding stuff from us. I’m just this angry because Malfoy’s words triggered one of the worst fears I had at the beginning of the summer. I saw how traumatic Sirius’s death was for you. I saw how depressed you were. I was going to go to Dumbledore and argue for you not to go back to the Dursleys because I _knew_ how awful it would be. I _knew_ that environment would be positively the worst place you could be at that time. But I couldn’t get the chance before the end of term to talk to him.”

She finally took a seat in her own wicker chair and looked down at her knees, still lost in thought and unable to stop talking. “I panicked when I saw you leave the Hogwarts Express and join the Dursleys. I cried when I saw you leave the station. That night, I dreamed you died from a broken heart, and I woke up sobbing. I tried to call Ron, but The Burrow doesn’t have a phone, so I was alone all night, thinking of you… you, also alone. I was so sure something awful had happened to you, and I wasn’t there to help. _And_ it would be all my fault, because I couldn’t get to Dumbledore in time to convince him to save you.”

She looked up at Harry again, her eyes glistening and her lips parted. “That was the hardest night of my life,” she said. “It was even worse in retrospect, when you told us about the Prophecy. To think that you were carrying all that weight on your shoulders, and you couldn’t even… oh Harry… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

That was exactly what Harry was doing. He shook silently in his seat as tears ran down his face. It hurt to remember, and it hurt even worse to hear Hermione’s words. She had never told him about this before.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said gently. “I’m sorry. God, I feel stupid now… it was just a dumb dream Harry, nothing more. You’re okay now.”

But Harry kept crying. His shoulders were shaking now. He tried to turn his face inward towards his shoulder to hide his tears, but it was futile.

“Harry,” Ron whispered, standing up in a half-crouch to put his hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Between his silent sobs, Harry choked out, “No… no, it’s not.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione whispered, keeping her voice soft and soothing.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry managed say. “I’m… _god_ , I’m sorry.”

“What is it?” Hermione said, her voice beginning to shake again.

Harry forced himself to look up and meet her gaze. He truly didn’t want to see how hurt she would be, but he knew he deserved it.

“Oh Hermione,” he moaned. _“That’s_ the night I…”

For a brief second her eyes were blank with ignorance. But then she registered the fiery pain in Harry’s green eyes. She realized his tears and recognized the tremble in his voice. When it hit, her face crumpled, and her entire body slumped. She was too devastated to even start crying again. She just looked like she’d been punched directly in the stomach.

Ginny’s mouth slowly fell open as she, too, realized the gravity of the situation. “You… _did_ try to commit suicide,” she croaked.

“You were telling Malfoy the truth?” Ron breathed. Then Harry saw a sight he’d so rarely seen before: his best friend crying. Ron was frequently incited to passion, or inspired to action, or reduced to rage. But so rarely was he moved to tears. The sight of it was gutwrenching.

For a moment, the six of them sat trembling in their wicker chairs, all of them crying and unable to speak. The Room of Requirement dimmed the lights in a motion of respect, providing them the modesty of shadows to mask their grief.

It was Neville who spoke first. Voice trembling, he said very slowly, “So… you told Malfoy… _before_ you told us.”

This was the elephant in the room. His words hung in the air, chilling the atmosphere and sending a shiver down Harry’s spine. This was worse than he could have possibly imagined the night could go.

True, he _hadn’t_ told his friends about his suicide attempts. He had put it behind him. He had meant for it to be a dark relic that he left in his past—a gravely foolish mistake he had made over the summer that thankfully had not had lasting consequences. It would have been the stupid story he revealed thirty years later on some drunken night after a reunion or a funeral or some other life event that involved a lot of alcohol.

But he’d let it slip out around Draco… because why? Because he was a foolish twat with a crush… good fucking God. It sounded moronic, even in his head. He didn’t know what had driven him to reveal it at the time… probably because it still lingered with him, even long after he stopped wishing to follow through with it. It wasn’t relevant enough to reduce his friends to tears, but it was heavy enough that he needed to divest himself of the weight somehow. So he did. And he _knew_ at the time that he couldn’t just tell Draco and then never tell his friends. But he thought he’d have more time than this. He thought he’d have at least a few months to find a moment to sit his friends down for the reveal. Or maybe he could have gotten them all drunk and let it slip in some wine-besotted reverie.

But this was how it happened. Whether or not Harry meant it to happen like this did not make Neville’s words any less true.  They rang uncomfortably in the room, chilling Harry and making his friends freeze in their seats.

Ron and Hermione and Neville and Ginny all looked up at him, their eyes shining with tears and their faces twisted with grief.

“You… you _did_ tell Malfoy before us,” Ron whispered.

“Why would you _do_ that?” Ginny croaked, her hand trembling at her throat.

“What did we do?” Hermione asked, tears streaming down her face. “What did we do wrong that made you think you couldn’t tell us?”

_This_ was how the night was going to end: not because his friends were frustrated with his failed seduction plot… not because his friends were angry because he’d kept them in the dark about his foolish ideas to woo Draco… but because they were unfathomably hurt that he would trust Draco before them. That he couldn’t even tell them about his most traumatic experience. He just wanted to disappear into the floor and vanish forever. He even willed the Room of Requirement to open up a trap door to swallow him whole, but nothing happened. Apparently the room required a little more from him that that.

But then Luna stood up, her cheeks still wet with tears. “I’ve been watching our magical auras,” she blurted out, “and I consulted with the Heebripple, and he told me that he needs Harry. Right now.”

“Luna,” Hermione ground out, pulling at her hair in agitation, “Now is _not_ the time for you mumbo-jumbo, or your silly jokes, or whatever you stupid shit is all about. This is very, _very_ serious.”

“I know,” Luna said. “And I, too, am being very serious.” She scampered over to Hermione to give her a quick, heartfelt hug with one arm. With the other, she dipped into Hermione’s bag and pulled out the Marauder’s Map. “Now follow me, Harry. The Heebripple needs you.”

She grasped Harry around the wrist and dragged him bodily from his seat and across the room. The rest of his friends watched in shock as she led him to the door and out into the hallway.

“Luna, what are you doing?” Harry asked, surprised at the lead she was taking with him. They were out in the hallway now, standing by the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

“Harry,” she said, her silver eyes huger than ever before and her entire face shining with pure pathos, “they need a moment to work through that… without getting angry at you.”

“Wh-what? Wh-why?”

“And _you_ … you shouldn’t be here right now. You should be finding Draco.” She pressed the Marauder’s Map into his hands and gave him a quick, tight hug.

“But-but Ron… and Hermione… and Ginny… and Neville,” Harry croaked.

“I’ll talk to them,” Luna promised. “But _you_ need to get going now. Find Draco. Fix things.”

Harry stammered, but Luna ignored his discombobulation in favor of giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Harry,” she said fervently. “And I understand you. Now go!”

He was still in too much shock to properly analyze what was going on. Instead, he took comfort in Luna’s word, and he took inspiration from her command. Consulting the Marauder’s Map, he saw that Draco was still in the Astronomy Tower study lounge, and he set off at a run so he could get there before the Slytherin left.

Taking the hallways and staircases at a run, Harry reached the study lounge in under five minutes, arriving with a sheen of sweat across his face and a ragged husk on his breath. He burst through the door and was relieved to find Draco still there, curled up on one of the chairs. The Slytherin boy sat very still, his legs pulled up to his chest and his chin rested on top of his knees. For a moment Harry’s heart melted all over again. The boy looked so confused, so unsure.

“You’re back,” Draco said when Harry entered. He did not turn to look at the Gryffindor.

“I…” Harry stayed in the doorway, almost too nervous to approach his archenemy-cum-crush.

“What is it you have to say this time?” Draco asked him. “Did you come back to reiterate that you don’t care about me? Or are you here to say that that was a lie?”

Harry took a single step towards Draco, just enough to allow him to close the door behind him. But he didn’t answer Draco’s question. He didn’t know what to say.

“Sending your friend up here didn’t help,” Draco continued. “I think the biggest thing I got out of that conversation was that you’ve been lying to everyone, not just me.”

“I haven’t been lying to you,” Harry said, his voice low.

“Well, that’s just false,” Draco scoffed, finally unfolding his legs so he could swing around in his chair and face Harry, his silver eyes smoldering. “You can’t say you care about me, then say you _don’t_ care about me. One of those is a lie.”

“I—”

“— _do_ care about me? _Don’t_ care about me?” Draco interrupted before Harry could finish his sentence. “Whichever you said right now, I wouldn’t believe.”

So Harry snapped his mouth shut and glared, feeling all sorts of hard-done-by. This night was already going so terribly; now Draco couldn’t even give him a moment to explain himself? What probably made him even more cross was that he actually didn’t know _how_ he’d explain himself.

_You could try being honest for a change_ , his conscience suggested. _Y’know… completely honest._

“It’s like everything you said was designed to trick me,” Draco continued, “to draw me in. You don’t care. You don’t _want what I want_ … who the fuck says that? Particularly just two days after flirting with the abomination we all know as Gilderoy Lockhart?”

“Hey now!” Harry protested, his temper flaring with this accusation. “I only did that because you were avoiding me and I wanted to make you jealous!”

“I am mildly impressed by that,” Draco said casually, “because that’s very Slytherin of you. But that also means I can’t trust you. Hell, how do I know you weren’t making up all the personal stories, too? The fuck kind of story is your aunt and uncle forcing your cousin to go to church so he’d start hating gay people? That’s fucking stupid.”

“Just because my aunt and uncle do stupid things doesn’t mean they’re not true!” Harry argued.

“Whatever,” Draco said, turning his face away from Harry again. “I’ll bet you didn’t even try to kill yourself.”

Harry was already at the end of his patience and wit. This last accusation, therefore, triggered every single negative emotion he’d been feeling all evening. He was hurt—hurt that Draco was denying a story he’d told him in confidence, _right_ after he’d spilled that very story to Hermione. He was exhausted from keeping up the charade of liking Draco enough to fuck him but not enough to care for him. He was frustrated that he’d backed himself into a corner and was unable to work his way out. But most of all he was angry—angry at Draco for demolishing his advances, and angry at himself for so royally screwing his own plans… and angry at himself again for lying to his friends.

He was downright furious, and that cute little Slytherin boy perched on the edge of the velvet-cushioned chair was the cause of all of it. It was his fault.

Harry wanted to throw that boy to the ground, rip off his robes, grab him by his blonde hair, and ream his ass through his tattered trousers.

Once again, he wanted to hate fuck Draco Malfoy.

But, just as he flexed his fingers and took a deep breath—maybe to scream at Draco, or maybe to advance forward and actually follow through with his fantasy—something stopped him. It was a knock at the door.

They both looked up, startled. Neither of them was expecting their friends. Harry was sure the rest of his troupe was back in the Room of Requirement, trying to work their way through his lies and betrayal. And he couldn’t fathom any reason why Crabbe or Goyle would be coming back to retrieve Draco. In any case, the last thing he wanted was for any of them to come in and interrupt this conversation.

It was with trepidation that Harry reached forward to open the door. Draco’s gaze followed the Gryffindor’s hand as his grasped the knob and pulled. Then they were looking at an open doorway, which was blocked by Dumbledore’s phoenix Patronus and a heavyset boy who was holding on to the phantom’s tail. As soon as the phoenix saw Harry, it vanished into the air, revealing the visitor behind it. Harry’s jaw dropped in pure shock.

It was Dudley Dursley.


	13. Jesus and Buttsex

**A/N:** Oh my god, I know how long it’s been since I updated, and I’m so sorry! It’s been a crazy last few months, and it still sort of is. I’ve badly wanted to write, but I’ve barely had the time. I’m hoping things change over the next few months, but be patient with me. I have this whole story planned out, chapter-for-chapter, and I dearly wish to finish it.

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Jesus and Buttsex**

For a long moment, the three boys remained silent. Dudley stood uncomfortably in the doorway, completely exposed now that the Patronus had disappeared. He shifted from foot to foot and tried his hardest to look the two boys in the eye. Draco frowned at him; Harry straight-up let his jaw drop as he goggled at his Muggle cousin.

Then Harry and Draco both spoke at once. Draco said, “Who the hell are you?”

At the same time, Harry said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Dudley turned his head back and forth between the two, unsure of who to answer first. He looked different. For one, he was more fit than Harry had ever seen him—still bulky and heavyset, but for once with some semblance of muscle instead of the fat that had bulged from his frame for so many years. Besides that, though, his whole demeanor had changed. He looked calmer now. His eyes were softer and less beady, and his expression was firm and resolute instead of slack-jawed.

“This is my cousin,” Harry explained to Draco. “Dudley Dursley. Dudley, this is my… this is Draco Malfoy.”

“Your cousin?” Draco said, looking the Muggle up and down with great curiosity. “Isn’t he supposed to be fatter?”

“Draco!” Harry yelped. He turned quickly to his cousin and said, “I’m sorry, he didn’t mean that.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dudley said. “You shouldn’t be apologizing—I deserved that.”

“Okay, then,” Harry said, taken aback by Dudley’s humility. “Um… so… what _are_ you doing here?”

Dudley chuckled nervously and reached up a hand to scratch his head. “Well, speaking of apologizing… that’s what I came to do.”

Harry actually took a stumble-step backwards at these words. It was shocking enough that Dudley was here at all. Then Harry had to process his change in disposition. But _this?_ He had honestly thought he’d live his whole life without ever hearing these words from his cousin.

Draco, however, was enthralled by Dudley’s words. His whole face lit up, and he leaned in eagerly as he anticipated what was undoubtedly going to be a terribly interesting exchange. “Go on!” he prompted Dudley.

“Draco!” Harry yelped. “Go away! This is a private moment between Dudley and me!”

“Fuck you, Harry, I don’t want to miss this!” Draco shot back. “Anyway, you’ve been a royal twat recently, so you owe me.”

Dudley, meanwhile, scuffed his foot on the ground and blushed a little. “Honestly, Harry, it’s okay. You’ve probably told your friends a lot about me already, and I’m sure they know what I’ve done to you in the past. It’s only fitting I apologize to them, too, for treating their friend so poorly.”

He took a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling as he looked Harry directly in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry for the way I have treated you these past sixteen years. I’m sorry for every time I beat you up, every time I took away something you wanted or encouraged my parents to abuse you even more than they already were. I’m sorry for every name I’ve called you, and I’m sorry thinking you were a freak.”

Dudley spread his arms, his stance open and vulnerable. Harry couldn’t tear his gaze away—nor did he want to!—but he was frozen in place as if Ginny had sicced the Basilisk on _him_ after all these years.

His Muggle cousin took another deep breath and continued speaking. “These are just words. They don’t begin to make up for what I did. To be blunt, for the last sixteen years I have failed you on even the most basic level. A mere apology can’t cover how awful I’ve been, but I hope that it’s a start. I want to do whatever I can to make things right.”

Harry was vaguely aware that Draco was grinning from ear to ear somewhere next to him. If he wasn’t so boggled, he would have actually reached over and slapped the prat out of that stupid Slytherin. But he _was_ boggled. The absolute sincerity of Dudley’s words floored him. That his cousin so thoroughly eschewed any excuse was even more astounding.

“Wh-why?” Harry managed to say after a lengthy moment of silence. “What’s happened? What’s changed?”

Dudley finally smiled for the first time since he entered the room. His expression softened and his whole face glowed as he said, “I got saved.”

Again, Harry was too shocked for words. He just let his mouth fall open as he gaped as his cousin.

Unfortunately, Draco was _not_ too shocked for words. He clapped his hands together with relish and said, “O.M.G., for real?”

Harry rounded on him fiercely. “Shut up!” he snapped. “This is a serious moment. And sweet Merlin, did you actually say _O.M.G.?”_

“Shut up, you dummy,” Draco said gleefully, “this is human interest! Tell us more, Dudley!”

Dudley’s grin kept spreading until it went from ear to ear. “I went to church, and I found Jesus,” he said. “At first, I resisted. It was sometime early last spring that my parents started taking me, and at first I was livid that they were making me. I was furious that I couldn’t sleep in on Sundays. I thought it was all a waste of my time.

“But there was something about it… the lessons from the Bible, the true Christian fellowship of everyone there… I felt a real kinship—a real love!—that I’ve never before experienced, and it slowly dawned on me what I’ve been missing all these years. I’ve been so focused on myself… I’ve only cared about what others thought about me. I’ve only surrounded myself with people who sucked up to me and gave me what I wanted. I had _so much_ in my life, and yet it was never enough. I always wanted more.

“For a month or so, I really liked the sermons and the Sunday school lessons. They sounded nice. They sounded wholesome. I was learning good things from them. But I was also beginning to realize: all the stories of people who had fallen into pride and selfishness? Those people were me. I was the bad guy.”

Draco leaned forward eagerly at Dudley’s self-effacing reflection. “Which stories?” he said eagerly. “Which bad guys were you?”

“Well, there’s Haman in Esther—the vizier for the king who hated Jews and wanted them dead. I’d always been like him, hating people who were different from me. And then the story of David and Bathsheba, where David got her husband killed so he could marry her, even though he had three hundred wives already because he was the king. That was _definitely_ me—I had all the worldly possession and presents I want, but I still beat up kids and stole their toys just because I wanted even more.”

“What about Satan?” Draco said eagerly. “What are the stories about Satan? Were you like him?”

“Draco!” Harry hissed furiously. “Nobody is like Satan! Satan’s the really, really, really, _really_ bad one!”

Dudley’s lip quivered a little at this exchange; he looked almost amused. “Maybe I’ve never been as bad as Satan,” he said, “but I’ve been bad enough. The longer I went to church, the more I realized just how much of a sinner I really was. But it really didn’t hit me until after _you_ came back, Harry.”

Harry’s heartbeat quickened a little at these words as a queer mix of emotions ran through him. “What do you mean?” he said.

“Well, until that point, I’d really only been thinking about my sins in a general sense. I was a bad person. I was selfish. I beat kids up and stole their lunch money. I was just generally sort of awful. But then we picked you up from King’s Cross station at the beginning of the summer, and I could tell you were in a bad way. You looked trapped. You looked like you were going to your death. I felt a strong sense of foreboding, like I should say something or do something to reach out to you.

“But I couldn’t, Harry, because I had never been there for you. Precisely the opposite: I have always made your life a living hell. You looked worse than I had ever seen you before, and there was no way for me to help you. At that moment, I could not share God’s love with you. I had burned every bridge that would have allowed me to do that, and I knew it.”

Dudley’s eyes pooled with sadness as he gazed at his cousin. “That night, you tried to kill yourself. My mum and dad didn’t notice—you got the rope off from around your neck in time, but I still saw it. I saw what you had tried to do, and I’ve never felt so guilty in my entire life.”

A single tear ran down Dudley Dursley’s cheek. “I saw you were suffering, and I should have reached out to help you. But because of who I was, and because of what I had done to you my whole life, I couldn’t. All you needed that night was _one_ person, and you wouldn’t have tried to kill yourself. Had I not fallen _so short_ in every measure, I could have been that person for you.”

For the second time that day, Harry felt his eyes pooling with tears as listened to his cousin’s words. Even Draco had become more subdued, surveying the two of them with a piercing gaze. Harry cleared his throat and managed to speak around a husk in his voice. “Dudley, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. It wasn’t your place to save me.”

“Then whose place was it?” Dudley pressed. “My parents? They hate you, and they always have. Had I been a stronger person—a person of greater character—I could have grown up liking you. You were my age, and we were raised in the same house. You could have been my brother! But I was not strong enough for that. Had you died that night, it would have been my fault.”

Harry’s heartbeat refused to slow down. If anything, he only felt the pounding increase in his chest as he gaped at his cousin. This was a boy he’d hated his whole life. Hated.... well, to be honest, Harry wasn’t sure how much of his feelings were actually hatred. He’d been jealous of this boy, too—envious of the love that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia saved for Dudley and only Dudley, unable to understand why this pork-chop-faced bully had so many birthday presents and so many friends when Harry had had none. And he’d been confused and hurt. What Dudley just said was right: he didn’t _have_ to have grown up hating Harry, no matter what his parents had taught him.

Now this boy stood in front of him, apologizing for what he’d done, and apologizing for who he was. This was something Harry had longed to hear, but something he’d so completely never expected that he’d put it out of his mind entirely.

“I… I don’t know what to say, Dudley,” Harry croaked.

“I hardly know what to say myself,” Dudley responded with a sad chuckle. “I… well, I’ve never felt more strongly convicted of my sins than I was on that night. For the first time, I realized the magnitude and the pervasiveness of my wrongdoing. I realized how _much_ I’d done against you—and against others—and how long it would take to undo it all. In fact, looking back at my life, I know I can’t undo my wrongs. I could do good deeds forever, and it would only be me trying to put a bandaid on the wounds I’ve made. The wounds are still there, no matter how I try to heal them.

“That night, Harry and Draco, I knelt in front of my bed and asked Jesus into my heart. I acknowledged my sins and admitted my powerlessness to save myself. I gave myself over to the Lord, and now I’m living every day for his glory.”

Dudley’s gaze locked with theirs as he smiled a wide smile of pure joy. His whole face lit up: his cheeks rosy, his eyes sparkling, and all the worry lines disappearing from his forehead. Harry was fascinated to see his cousin so genuinely happy, but he also didn’t know what to make of it. He was nowhere near the point where he could feel good on behalf of this boy.

Draco had settled down into one of the armchairs again, but he leaned forward so eagerly in his seat that he was almost bent in half. “So…” he said, wide-eyed, “if you’re a Christian now, does that mean you think witches and wizards are evil?”

Harry glared at the Slytherin for what felt like the millionth time that night, but Dudley turned towards him and said fairly, “No, Draco. I’m not a Christian because I want to judge others or declare others to be evil. I’m a Christian because I want to be like Christ: I want to love others. I want to bring peace and happiness wherever I go.”

“That’s…” Harry said, trying to find the words to say. “That’s… good for you, Dudley.”

His cousin turned back towards him, his eyes shining earnestly. “Harry, I really _am_ so very sorry. After that night, I felt so bad I was positively frantic. I wanted to save your life, but I didn’t know how. I wanted to talk to you, but I was afraid. So I… well, I hid the knives and replaced all the pills in the kitchen cabinet with sugar pills from the pharmacy, because I’m a dummy. Like you wouldn’t have found a way if you’d wanted to try to kill yourself again! I should have just talked to you, Harry! Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about this.”

“It’s…” Harry said, reaching out a placating hand towards his cousin, but unable to bring himself to say anything more.

“You don’t have to say it’s okay,” Dudley said. “I’m not here for you to absolve me. I’m here to apologize. Go ahead and sleep on it, and we can talk again in the morning.”

Then he also reached out, taking Harry’s still-extended hand in a simple, firm handshake. The contact felt so peculiar to Harry: so warm, so real, and so foreign. Dudley was a stranger he was meeting for the very first time.

“I’m going to bed now,” Dudley said as he let go of Harry’s hand. “Take some time to think things through. Or heck, put it out of your mind entirely for now. I think I was interrupting something anyway.”

He nodded at the two wizard boys and gave them both a small smile. Then Dumbledore’s phoenix materialized in the doorway to guide the Muggle to his guest chambers.

Harry and Draco were left alone. For a minute they were silent. Harry was still digesting everything that had just happened, on top of everything else that had _already_ happened that night. His stomach was all a-turmoil. He couldn’t keep himself from blinking every other second. He couldn’t slow the thoughts in his head.

But then, gradually, Dudley’s final words filtered into his brain, and he remembered: he had been fighting with Draco. Right before Dudley had interrupted them, Draco had been saying that all of Harry’s stories weren’t true.

But they _were_. Harry rounded on the Slytherin, his arms on his hips and his brow twisted in a glare. “See, Draco?” he hissed. “I _was_ telling the truth! Dudley _did_ go to church, and I _did_ try to kill myself!”

“Well, forgive me for not trusting you!” Draco snarked, throwing his hands into the air. “Forgive me for taking _everything_ you say with a grain of salt after you were running a seduction plot on me this whole time. Forgive me for thinking your ego too big for you to ever feel low enough to attempt suicide.”

Harry knew full well that Draco was engineering his words for maximum sting, but he’d be damned if it didn’t work exactly as intended. Draco might as well have slapped him across the face, so much did those words hurt.

His green eyes were ablaze. He turned them directly on Draco and refused to look away. “Fuck. You,” he spat. “ _Fuck_ you.”

Draco met him gaze for gaze, his silver eyes flashing and dancing with an almighty turbulence of fury. “Fuck you, too. Self-righteous twat.”

“Spoiled brat,” Harry fired back. “No wonder your parents don’t love you.”

Draco took a quick stride towards Harry, almost losing control, but stopping himself just a few feet away from his nemesis. “At least I have parents,” he sniped. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they actually killed themselves to get away from you.”

“Holy shit, Malfoy,” Harry choked, taking his own stride closer. “At least my parents were brave enough to stand up to Voldemort. Yours can barely grovel at the hem of his filthy robes.”

“Shut your fucking mouth about what you don’t know,” Draco said, taking another stride closer. They were now inches from each other, their hot, angry breath searing each other’s faces.

“I hate you,” Harry whispered, his gaze boring into Draco’s.

Draco took the words without even flinching. “I hate you, too,” he whispered back.

Harry’s hand darted out, and he grabbed Draco around the wrist. His grip was furious, but not injurious. Draco hardly flinched. If anything, he leaned into Harry’s grasp, his gaze never turning away.

“Fuck you,” Draco said again, his words fiercely calm. He closed the gap between them even further. His chest brushed Harry’s, and his lips were inches away.

“I want to fuck you,” Harry replied, guiding Draco’s hand to his waist. Draco responded by hungrily clutching at Harry’s hips.

The Slytherin boy’s breath was ragged as he breathed, “I want you to, too.”

“God, Draco,” Harry sighed, his voice fueled with a mix of frustration and anger and pure, hot lust. He lifted his hands to Draco’s face and brought him in for a bruising kiss.

Every emotion he felt that night—and every emotion he felt prior—Harry poured into that kiss. From the moment he began to hate Draco, to the moment he began to want to hate-fuck him, to the moment he began to want to fuck-fuck him, to the exhilaration of the seduction plot, to the nerve-wracking thrill when he realized it was more than a plot, to the insecurity he felt when Draco didn’t return his advances, to the thrill he felt when Draco _did_ , and up to this very night when it all came to a head. Every emotion, good or bad, he let Draco physically feel.

Draco responded in like kind. His tongue worked around Harry’s, and his hands ran along the Gryffindor’s back and around his waist, his fingers digging through the folds of Harry’s robes and shirt in an eager effort to grab a hold of his skin. Harry moaned at the contact. Draco was purposeful in his moves, but he was none too gentle. He was every bit as worked up as Harry.

Not breaking the kiss, Harry used his right hand to run his fingers through Draco’s blonde hair, grabbing a hold when he reached the scalp so he could tilt back the Slytherin’s head and nibble at his neck. With his left hand, Harry tore off his robes and threw them to the ground. He meant to fling them across the room, but in his haste he aimed wrong, and they flopped at his feet. He didn’t care, though. He pushed them aside with a quick scuff of his shoe and dragged a moaning Draco over to the remaining armchair in the middle of the room—the only one that hadn’t been put away.

Letting go of the boy’s hair, Harry yanked Draco’s robes off in one swoop and pushed him, hands against chest, into the chair. Draco fell into its plush cushion with an _eep_ , his hair tousled and his shirttails loose. His eyes flashed at Harry, a little star-struck by the Gryffindor, a little fearful of the boy’s strength, but mostly lustful and longing and ferocious.

“Draco?” Harry said, his voice ragged as he furiously undid the buttons from his shirt and divested himself of its confines. “You make me so hot.” He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. “You make me crazy.”

“You, too, you prat,” Draco murmured, extending his hands longingly towards Harry’s bare chest. “You stupid, stupid boy.”

Then Harry was on top of Draco, his pants slipping down his legs to expose his form-fitting, square-cut black underwear, his hands working feverishly to undo the button’s on Draco’s shirt, and his heart pumping wildly. His brain was fuzzy with electricity; his fingers danced on Draco’s naked skin.

This was it. Draco wasn’t going to stop him this time. They were done teasing, done messing around.

They were on each other. As Harry’s pants slid down his muscular thighs, he wriggled out of them and straddled Draco in the chair, his erection stretching out his underwear and rubbing against the Slytherin’s smooth, pale stomach.

And—as they wrapped themselves in each other’s arms, as he felt Draco’s erection pressing into the side of his leg, and as another one of Draco’s moans tingled in his ears—it suddenly struck Harry: this was his first time. This was Draco’s first time.

This was a hate fuck. But, oh, how Harry wanted it to be the sweetest, most special hate fuck it could possibly be! How Harry wanted to end the night with Draco wanting more! In his mind, he could see himself hate fucking Draco forever.

Or just fucking. Or maybe making love.

Harry leapt off Draco for one moment and stood directly in front him, surveying the Slytherin boy with a piercing gaze. He took in every inch of Draco: from his flushed cheeks and messed-up hair, to the slender arms that gripped the armrests, to his bare and heaving chest, to legs that splayed themselves open in longing.

“Wh-what is it?” Draco mumbled, gazing up at Harry to see why he’d gotten up.

“You’ll look better with _these_ off,” Harry replied, gripping at the waistline of Draco’s black slacks and the underwear beneath it. He worked them both down Draco’s legs, his chin brushing the contours of Draco’s milky thighs. Now Draco was completely naked, his whole body trembling in excitement.

Harry then slipped off his own underwear, leaving him standing before Draco entirely exposed. Draco gulped as his gaze ran down Harry’s body. When he caught sight of the Gryffindor’s throbbing erection, he unconsciously lifted his legs to the level of the armrests, folding himself in half and presenting himself to Harry.

Harry gulped audibly at the sight. He was ready. He was so ready.

“Do you have your wand?” Draco whispered.

“Yeah,” Harry said, withdrawing it from the invisible holster on his left wrist. He ran the tip down the back of Draco’s thighs, tingling the skin and causing the Slytherin to shudder with pleasure. It came to rest on the ring of Draco’s exposed hole, where Harry then whispered, “ _Culoprotego.”_ A milky white light encircled it for a brief moment before fading away.

Draco groaned and spread his legs even farther, causing the wand to prod inside him just a little bit. “It’s so warm!” he said, his voice half an octave higher than normal.

Harry grinned, completely taken in by Draco’s arousal and pure, unfettered joy. He would do everything he could to keep that going. He was going to make Draco feel like he was in heaven.

So he pulled his wand back and pointed at his own dick, muttering the protection spell that Madame Pomfrey had taught him a few weeks back. Then, with a quick, _“Astro,”_ his wand dribbled a stream of lube, which he ran down the length of his cock and then over onto Draco’s asshole.

Harry put the wand away, and then he gathered Draco in his arms again, keeping the boy bent in half as he pressed their bodies together. Harry was so close to entering him.

“Draco,” he whispered, “I hate you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Draco whispered back, his breath ragged. “Fuck me. I’m ready.”

“I know you’re ready,” Harry said, a smile playing at the corner of his lips, “but I’m big.”

Draco gulped. He didn’t say a word in reply, but he did slowly press his ass again Harry, inviting him in.

And as Harry entered, slowly and reverently, he locked his gaze with Draco, their eyes inches apart, and he whispered, “You know, Draco, I _do_ care.” He was inside now; Draco’s silver eyes grew wide, and his lips parted silently.

“I _do_ want what you want.”

 


End file.
